#but she’d let killian go back for almost the whole course of the year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stubblesandwich · 1 year ago

Text

Return To Me - Chapter 4

A/N: It was requested I post this here, as well, so here ya go! (Sorry if I double tagged anyone.) I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you endlessly to anyone still following this story. You have all my love.

Summary: Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Find on A03 here

++++++

Chapter Four - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Three Weeks Post-Op

Emma had been called a cynic plenty of times in her life. As it turned out, being pushed through the foster system for a decade and a half hadn’t exactly turned her into a beaming optimist. Like most cynics, she claimed she was actually a realist. She planned for the worst, because things tended to not work out that great for her, and hoped for the best. Sometimes she was pleasantly surprised.

But in the litany of potential outcomes Emma had been preparing herself for, a new heart had never actually made the list. It was akin to winning the lottery, in her mind. Life had not been particularly kind to her. Yet, she had always taken her blows in stride, and she never took handouts. And the prospect of finally making it to the top of the transplant list at the age of twenty-six, after almost a decade of waiting, felt like a handout from life.

Emma Swan had never been one to sit around waiting for handouts.

There were other things she had prepared herself for. Increasing the handful of pills she took each day to keep her body from failing on her any faster. Moving from her full time job and supporting herself completely on her own to working part time, then very part time, to not at all. Getting on a government disability program. Each new punch to the gut from life she took in stride, as best she could.

And through it all, righting her each and every time she stumbled, were David and Mary Margaret. They were some of the best, most genuine and caring people ever to be placed on planet earth. She didn't deserve them—there was a small, cruel voice in the back of her head that affirmed this for her every day. But they just kept showing up for her, and they wouldn’t leave, and they wouldn’t let her quit.

As it turned out, after the first week, getting a whole new vital organ sewn into her chest wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. By the third week, the pain was starting to subside, transitioning into a residual soreness, and her biggest struggle currently was not clawing at her incision every time it itched. When the skin itself didn’t feel like an odd mixture of both tight and numb, it felt ablaze with itchiness. It was all she could do not to scratch at it. (Every time she did, Mary Margaret would bark at her to stop it, or David would throw a random item in her direction. Most recently, it had been a box of tissues that had narrowly missed her head, and he threatened to get an extendable fly swatter to swat her with, as needed.)

For the first time in her life, Emma was well and truly doted upon. She had family members who inarguably refused to leave her side. That is, of course, until Mary Margaret was forcibly removed by way of her impending school year start.

She’d had almost a month left of her summer break when Emma had had her operation, and she had been able to push almost all of her classroom prep off until the very last minute. David helped her ready her room when he could, but Emma knew her friend was fraying at the seams from trying to do so much in such a short span of time. Mary Margaret had a handful of vacation days, but she hoarded them like a dragon for true emergencies, and worried constantly that if her students started off the school year with a substitute teacher, they would just end up watching movies all day instead of actually learning something.

This was their last weekend before the new school year started and Mary Margaret went back to working full days. Emma was lounging on the couch, dozing, lidded eyes half focused on the episode of Friends quietly playing on the living room TV. She and Mary Margaret had just finished putting together twenty-five “Welcome back!” folders for her incoming students, as well as a second set for their parents.

“Why couldn't they have been ready for you to have the surgery during the start of summer?” Mary Margaret lamented, as she plopped her last folder down on the pile. “I would have had three months off to be here with you!”

David glanced over at them from the pile of pans he was washing at the kitchen sink and gave his wife an odd look. “You do realize you're wishing the woman whose heart Emma has now had died earlier in the year instead of later, right?”

Mary Margaret looked aghast. “No! Of course I don’t wish that. I didn't... I just meant...”

David raised his eyebrows at her, but by now he was smiling gently at his wife. Mary Margaret huffed. A slightly awkward silence settled between the three of them. The fact that another person was dead and Emma was still alive because of it was something they all knew but typically left unsaid. David had said it out loud, and now the strangeness of that fact settled over them all heavily.

“I wonder what she was like,” Emma murmured from her spot on the couch, puncturing the silence. “They couldn't tell me much. Well, couldn't or wouldn't, not sure which. All they said was that she was older than me, but not by too much, and in great health. Obviously we had to have the same blood type. But they couldn't tell me how she died, just that it didn't affect her heart.”

“Probably head trauma,” David said sagely. Emma winced at the thought, but he was likely right. He had seen enough as an officer to know. Especially working night shifts, when the majority of car accidents took place in the area.

“That sounds awful,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“I'd never say I was glad someone else died,” David said after a while. “But I'm glad Emma's still with us.” The fact that these things were one in the same went unsaid. Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Emma’s arm in gentle agreement with her husband. Emma glanced over at her and offered her sister-in-law a small smile, trying to convey to her without having to say it aloud that it was okay.

But in truth, Emma was uncomfortable. It just made her feel so strange, knowing that for every happy moment she now got to have here with her family, someone out there was living new moments, making new memories, without their own loved one to share them with. Someone out there was grieving a tremendous loss—had lost a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. The woman whose heart Emma now had could have been any one of those things, or all of them at once. She was presumably loved, adored, missed dearly. And Emma just didn’t know what to do with that information, how to carry these feelings with grace and proper gratitude. Often they \manifested in the form of guilt. David and Mary Margaret were quick to talk her out of that whenever it came up. That woman’s death meant something, they assured her. Part of her lives on, and part of her saved a life. That has to mean something to her family, right?

They were right, Emma knew. David saw so much meaningless death in his line of work that she inherently believed him when he told her that it was a gift, her being able to use someone else’s heart. (She didn’t have the courage to ask him how he would feel about any of Mary Margaret’s vital organs going to someone else, if she died.) It was a guilt she carried nonetheless, and she carried it poorly. It was an awkward shape, this guilt, and heavy, and she didn’t know how to carry it well. It all too often made her fumble.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said Mary Margaret looked over at her sharply, instantly suspicious that Emma was still feeling off from the previous conversation, but Emma was quick to wave away her worry. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really. I just feel grimy, and I don’t want to taint the epicness of Last Dinner with my stink.” This was their last evening—Last Dinner—before Mary Margaret returned to work full time, and they were marking the occasion with David’s mother’s famous lasagna recipe, a favorite from David and Emma’s semi-shared childhood (and coincidentally the only meal David really knew how to make, but that was beside the point).

“I second the vote for a shower,” David said, raising his hand in mock vote.

“You would,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes that David didn’t even need to see to know was there. Mary Margaret started to rise with her, as if about to help her to her feet. “Relax, woman,” Emma said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder gently to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Jury’s still out,” came David’s response.

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, half expecting her to admonish her husband, but Mary Margaret just stared up at her with poorly veiled anxiety. “I’m not!” Emma said. “Guys, it’s been almost a month.”

“Three weeks,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Since you got a new heart. Not since you got your tonsils removed.”

“Okay,” Emma said, stretching out her back a bit as she stood there, chasing a kink out between her shoulder blades. “Sure, it was a big surgery.” David scoffed from his place by the sink, and Emma shot him a warning look. “But the doctors even said I have to try to do more on my own. I think it’s safe to say that includes showering.” There was no argument from David on that one. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked unconvinced.

“What if you slip and fall?”

“I’ll be sure to have my Life Alert button handy,” Emma retorted wryly. “Seriously, guys, it’s okay. I can handle showering.” Before they could argue any further, Emma slipped away, locking herself in the bathroom.

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Mary Margaret called through the door in a singsong voice only a few moments later. Emma swore she heard the doorknob jiggle, like her friend was testing to see if it was locked or not. It was, thankfully. Emma was already halfway undressed, and the last thing she needed was for her brother to get an accidental peep show because his wife thought Emma had already gotten stuck behind the toilet and died or something. “Emma?”

Oh, my God, Emma mouthed to herself. “Thanks,” she called out. “I will!” That seemed to appease Mary Margaret. But the faint squeak of the bar stool at the kitchen island assured Emma she hadn't gone far. It was endearing, how much they worried about her. At least, that's what she told herself in the moments like this, when it was almost impossible to find even just two seconds of privacy. Sometimes, she really did feel like she was a little kid again. Only now, she was re-living a much different version of her childhood. A sweeter, kinder version wherein people actually wanted to take care of her and didn't think of her as a monumental burden.

The tub's faucet squeaked shrilly as she turned on the water. When she’d first gotten home a week ago, just that motion, gripping the handle and giving the antique metal a yank, had left her arm feeling like a limp noodle. She was doing much better now, but she still felt pathetically weak and exceptionally out of shape. At one point, long ago, she had been fairly strong. A thin child, but always scrappy. Now she was a pale waif, muscles atrophied over the years as she'd gotten sicker. She vowed to herself that was going to change. Despite how frail she was, at the same time, she legitimately felt like she could take on the world now, with this new heart. She could finally breathe, take a breath fully in and out, without feeling lightheaded. That alone was a miracle.

Gingerly, she lifted her tank top up over her head. Her scar, where a surgeon had cut into muscle and bone and forcibly ripped open her sternum, stood out, an angry red slash against alabaster skin. For the first few weeks, it had been concealed by gauze. By this point, it was still tender, but her doctor encouraged her to air it out often. She even had some skin mobility exercises she was supposed to be doing daily, to help the layers of tissue beneath the scar not permanently adhere to one another. The scar itself stretched from the top of her chest, dropping down in between her breasts, all the way past her sternum bone. It was a thick, gnarled thing, aesthetically ugly; but she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for it the longer she looked at it. As ugly as it was, this scar meant she was going to live to see her next birthday.

Washing herself was still a slow, cautious process, but much easier than it had been when she’d first gotten out of the hospital. She took the time now to do her full, luxury, self care princess shower routine, something she hadn’t had the strength to do in months. The venting system in the loft's tiny bathroom was terrible, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, steam cloaked the room like a fog. The sheer dampness of the air made her cough when she inhaled. Emma didn't care; she felt amazing. It was easy to underestimate how much better a good shower could make a person feel. She felt human again, instead of the fresh-from-the-hospital, invalid goblin she’d been feeling like for the past few weeks. Humming to herself, she dried off, turbaned her wet hair, and started to dress.

David had the water running at the sink, and the apartment’s ancient radiator had kicked on next to the bathroom; when Emma finally opened the bathroom door, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t hear the faint creak of the old wood on its hinge as it started to open.

“But you love your classroom.” David was saying in a low voice. It was clear he was trying to be fairly quiet, but this felt like intruding in on a conversation that had been going on for several minutes. Possibly the whole time she’d been in the shower.

Emma didn't hear Mary Margaret sigh, but she could tell by the tone of her voice that her words had come on the end of one. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I really do miss my kids. But Emma needs me here. I can't just leave her! She just got a new heart, David. A heart. It's not like she had her wisdom teeth removed and just needs a day or two to get back on her feet.”

The aforementioned heart skipped a beat in Emma's chest. A familiar, sinking feeling of guilt settled low and heavy in Emma's stomach.

“But she will get back on her feet,” David said gently. “You know she will. She just needs time.”

“Exactly! And she needs me here to help her until she does.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“David—”

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupted lovingly. “She's going to be okay. Better than okay. This is the day we've all been waiting for, don't forget. She's getting a second chance at life here.” Unexpected tears welled in Emma's eyes at that. “And Emma knows that,” David continued. “You and I both know she's going to be chomping at the bit to get back out there. It's going to be hard enough keeping her here the six weeks it'll take for her to heal. She's not going to need our help half as much as you think she will.”

Mary Margaret started to respond, but Emma couldn't take it anymore. She took the bathroom's old doorknob in her hand and gave it a good rattle, like she had just started to open it, and the door creaked loudly as she pushed it fully open. David and Mary Margaret grew hush until Mary Margaret piped up with, "Oh, hi Emma!" a little too brightly. David noticeably busied himself with cutting the garlic bread he’d pulled out of the oven moments before. The guilt at having eavesdropped coiled in Emma's chest like a snake ready to spring, and she swallowed around the lump that had grown in her throat. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal.

“Everything go okay?” Mary Margaret asked. “No dizziness?”

“I didn’t hear the Life Alert alarm go off,” David said dryly, shooting his sister a wink.

“I feel amazing,” Emma said earnestly. “Seriously.” She sidled up to her brother and successfully bumped him out of the way, taking over the cutting of the garlic bread despite his weak protestations.

“Oh, good,” Mary Margaret breathed, and the relief was evident in her voice. She shared a glance with David, which Emma pointedly ignored, and moved to grab the stack of dishes waiting on the island so she could start setting the table.

“I was thinking,” Emma went on, “Maybe I could come help you set up your classroom later today. If you think you need the help. Or I could just come keep you company, get a change of scenery.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” David said, as he watched his wife’s expression.

“That would be great, honestly,” Mary Margaret said, but was quick to add, “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t have me lugging around twenty-pound carts of Crayons or something,” Emma laughed, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Do fourth graders still use crayons?” David asked, as he popped open the oven one final time and withdrew the lasagna. The cheese on top was browning and bubbling and a minute away from burnt, just the way his mother had always cooked it, and the whole thing looked wonderful.

“Not really,” Mary Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a big, handsome deputy to do all my heavy lifting for me.” She batted her eyes at her husband a few times, who grinned back at her.

“All right, lovebirds,” Emma said, as she clicked the salad tongs at them a few times in playful warning. “Let’s eat. I’ve got my appetite back and I’m actually starving.”

“Jeez,” David said, “You’d think she’d gotten a new stomach with the heart. She’s gonna eat us out of house and home now.”

Table set, food out, they took their respective seats. David uncorked a bottle of red wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, which Emma was definitely not allowed to have, but she told Mary Margaret to enjoy it for her.

As Mary Margaret spooned squares of lasagna onto everyone’s plate, Emma took a moment to try to find the right words to say to convey how she was feeling to these people who would seemingly do anything in the world for her. But what she wanted most is for them to get back to living their lives, too. They had put off so much for her sake, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say. But it was time to move on now, to heal, for all of them.

“I know it can suck, having such a huge surgery,” Emma started, pausing to clear her throat. “But this is different.” She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who was watching her closely. “I mean, a month ago, I was dying. I never told you guys this, but it just felt like the end. I was working on drafting a will.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“That’s so morbid,” David said.

“I know it’s stupid.” Emma toyed with the end of her napkin as she stared down at her plate. “I don’t really have anything to will to anyone. I was just going to leave anything I had to you guys.” She cleared her traitorous throat again and took a moment to blink back some tears. She needn’t have bothered; when she glanced up at her family, they were both openly tearing up as they looked at her. “Okay, stop,” she said, pointing her fork at them, “Or I’m going to lose it. Absolutely no crying in baseball.”

“Got it,” Mary Margaret said, her voice watery and absolutely unconvincing.

“Just… Thank you,” Emma said, when she finally got her voice back under control. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be without you both. From the bottom of both my hearts,” she said, with a wry little smile she couldn’t keep at bay, “Thank you.”

David chuckled, wiping at his eyes, and Mary Margaret continued to stare at her, smiling and barely holding back the floodgates. “We love you, sis,” David said, and a moment later he raised his wineglass. “To Emma’s new lease on life.” Mary Margaret’s wine glass followed, and Emma clinked her water glass with theirs.

“And Mary Margaret’s new school year,” Emma added.

“Hear, hear,” Mary Margaret agreed. “I’ll take prayers, good vibes, anything you’ve got.”

“You’re going to do great,” David assured her, as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to kiss her cheek. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Dinner was splendid, and the company even better. It was the first full meal Emma was able to enjoy without feeling nauseated, which was a win in her book. She literally couldn’t think of the last time that had happened. Mary Margaret did indeed have Emma’s wine, and was perhaps a little tipsy when they later ventured out to put some finishing touches on her classroom, which just made it all the more enjoyable for Emma and David.

And as Emma settled into bed that night, for the first time in a long time, she felt well and truly good. She felt full, warm, strong, and loved. And she knew, felt sure in her bones, that this was the start of one of the best years of her life.

+++++

The funeral went as well as a funeral could--especially considering there was no actual body to bury. Milah had set it up long beforehand that all salvageable organs were to be donated to the nearest hospital at the time of her death, then the rest of her body donated to science. This made planning her funeral and memorial service a unique affair, as there was no body for a wake, no urn of ashes received. That he would receive later, whenever the hospital saw fit. So Killian honored his wife's memory the best way he could.

Everyone who had ever known her in the past few years since she and Killian had moved Stateside was crammed into a small funeral home to celebrate her life and speak well of her. Her parents were long dead, but he had managed to get his hands on some childhood photos from her aunt who still lived across the pond; a small smattering of her extended relatives had sent cards to pay their respects. But the room was filled primarily with her coworkers and friends she’d made in the few years they’d lived in Boston.

Milah had been a truly gifted photographer, both in her work and personal life, evidence of which sat neatly framed and displayed on nearly every available inch of table space in the room. All the best photos Milah had ever taken through her work had been printed and framed and displayed, tucked neatly between bouquets of flowers. One table was so long, it took up the entire back wall.

Killian had almost, almost, completely lost the last tenuous grip he had on his sanity when the wrong flowers had come in that morning. He had distinctly ordered stargazer lilies, his wife’s favorite flower, for the table arrangements. Instead, what had been delivered to him were a rainbow assortment of Gerber daisies, of all things, which he viewed on this particular day as nothing short of an abomination. As it turned out, there had been a mistake with the delivery trucks, and his order had been sent to a birthday party instead. It probably should have embarrassed him, how angry a simple mix up of flowers had made him. But as he had very little pride left, he was literally seeing red, until Robin showed up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently steered him out the side door and outside for some fresh air. Will took over, his general belligerence a helpful and actually useful tool that day, and tried to get the flowers sorted out with minimal shouting.

As Killian stood now, gazing down at the myriad of perfect photos his wife had taken over the course of her career, he belatedly realized he had been the star of many of them, unbeknownst to him. His wife had apparently been a ninja behind her viewfinder when he wasn’t paying attention. It should have made him feel awkward, being the focal point of so many of her photographs; the last thing he wanted now was attention. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile at most of them. One of him leaning over the railing of a dock, for instance, staring pensively out at sea, squinting slightly in the light of the sun. Another of him from behind, a shadowed figure standing on the beach with his toes buried in the sand and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the red slashed sky of an oncoming storm. He was the blurred, black clad figure in the background or at the helm in several photographs of the ships he and his brother had helped restore.

It was visible, tangible proof of how much she had loved him, how often her camera found itself pointed in his direction, focused on him. And God, if that didn’t make him miss her all the more. His heart was an open wound, and he was never going to be able to staunch the flow from it. Day by day, he felt like he was bleeding out, until soon there would be nothing left of him.

One photo, his favorite, and one that was already framed in his home, stood out prominently. His and his brother, Liam, in front of their first real score for the ship restoration foundation, a beautiful, towering piece of history in the form of a stunning antique merchant vessel. Liam’s arm was thrown over Killian’s shoulders, his face alight with absolute joy (and possibly the buzz from the beers they’d had over lunch). They were both squinting, laughing like fools at having finally pulled it off. Towering behind them, not to be overshadowed, was the ship, herself: the Jewel of the Realm. Milah had been sent by a local paper to get photos of the ship, and her new owners, as a focal point for a story on local maritime history.

Killian felt fortunate he remembered that day so well. It had felt like the best day of his entire life, at the time. Seeing his brother so elated, after everything they had endured together, had been enough to send Killian to the moon. It felt like things were finally, finally going their way. He had taken to Milah instantly, and spent the hour regaling her with the history of the ship. A merchant ship, originally, but thought to have been used for piracy at one point. He leaned heavily into the implications of the latter fact, as he felt—rightly so—that it added intrigue, and Milah had been enamored with the Jewel. He'd joked that day about renaming it the Jolly Roger, much to his brother's chagrin. She’d had other work to get to that day, so she hadn’t stayed long, but she’d given him her business card, which he still carried in his wallet. Liam had been killed shortly after, on one of his last missions with the Royal Navy before his scheduled retirement. Everything had changed, then. But Killian had always felt especially lucky that it had been Milah that day who had come to take their photo. For one short hour, she had been able to meet his brother, before Killian had lost him forever. The stars had aligned, and for one short span of time, the man who had meant the most to him and the woman who would come to mean everything to him had met, briefly. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but to Killian, it had to be enough.

And then there were the glorious photos of the rest of the ships he had brought on through the years. He had always marveled at Milah’s skill behind a camera, her ability to find just the right angle, at just the precise time of day, to truly capture the essence of the ships he restored. Through her eyes, even the in-progress pictures never made them look like pieces of floating shit, which some of them very much were at the start of the process. She managed to make them look like hidden treasure, just waiting to be uncovered. Pieces of history waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. That’s what he’d felt like, with her. She’d been the one to see past his flaws after the death of his brother, to see something worth loving in him, something worth restoring.

And now what was he, without her?

The frequent looks of sympathy that came his way over the course of the memorial service were one of the worst parts of the day. Each and every concerned glance that flit in Killian's direction was threaded not only with heavy condolences, but something much worse: pity. And he knew he was a pitiable sight, indeed. He was dressed well enough, in a deep black suit Milah had bought for him after his business had another big break. But, his arm with the broken collarbone was still in a sling and had no hand at the end of it. Dark circles cradled his eyes, which seemed to be permanently bloodshot these days. He had given up almost entirely on sleep.

Sleeping felt impossible, an insurmountable task despite its simplicity; the bed was too big, too cold, and too empty when he was the only one in it. He tried—really tried. Each night, he made a valiant attempt to sleep in his own bed. He'd toss, turn, and generally do a lot of staring up at his ceiling. Eventually, he resorted to Netflix. But his “recently watched” list was full of her favorite shows, episodes half finished, series just begun. It was a terrible distraction.

The first week after he arrived home from the hospital, his recliner chair in the living room had been the only place he could comfortably fall asleep with his arm in a sling. It was a lumpy, unsightly thing he had inherited from his brother (it was this reason and this reason alone his wife had allowed him to keep it.) Milah had called it his old man chair. These days, he’d often fall asleep in the chair, wake up with a start an hour later, and make his way to the couch, where he’d try to fall back asleep, but would mostly lie awake, staring into the dark, letting his mind off its leash and letting it wander to dangerous places.

Often these thoughts centered on what he would do if he could track down the driver who had hit them head on, then fled the scene. What he would do when he found him or her varied. Sometimes, he pictured lighting him on fire. The next moment, he'd revel in the thought of running him through with a knife, watching him slowly bleed out on the floor. Or he’d take his hand from him, too. Such thoughts kept him company and carried him through until morning.

Now, with the lack of sleep and the general dissociation he felt, he often didn’t feel cemented in reality. When he looked around the room, taking in the funeral parlor, it felt like this was happening to someone else, and he was merely observing. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by a sea of people who didn't know what to say to him. The moment never came that he was spared the awkward indignity of a conversation with someone who had little else to say other than I'm sorry.

She was a lovely person.

(Each time, he bristled at the use of the past tense.)

She'll be missed.

Pity had overtaken the room, lingering like a dense fog. Everywhere he turned, his friends, her friends, co-workers, even a handful of people he had never seen before in his life, were all wearing the same expression on their faces. It transcended simple pity. It was next-level pity, flashing from their eyes and those slight down-turned corners of their mouths like a brightly-lit billboard in the night that read "YOUR LIFE DEPRESSES ME."

He couldn't blame them. He pitied himself, too, when he wasn't numb, pulled down so deep into his own despair he could no longer think straight.

At least the food was decent—or so he had been overhearing. One quick glance over at Will Scarlet in the back of the room, face stuffed with h'orderves, told him the funeral parlor's appetizers couldn't have been terrible. If there had ever been a time he appreciated his friends more, he couldn't think of it. Of all the people who had shown up to the service, Locks and Scarlet were the only two who didn't make him want to scream. Or run. Or throw a punch. All of it, all at once.

Will and Robin sat apart from the rest, in a pair of wingback armchairs in the corner of the room. Killian hadn't had a chance to speak to either of them, apart from initial hellos and quick hugs when they'd first arrived, and of course the ordeal with the flowers, but somehow, he knew without even asking they intended to stay for the entire affair, likely planning to take him out for a drink when this was all over.

What else do you do for your best friend after his wife's funeral?

All in all, it wasn’t a very hopeful affair, and too often bordered on bleak. Killian had no words in honor of Milah he wanted to share with a roomful of people who didn’t know her very well, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down. So, people ate, drank, and made a reserved and somber form of merry. They swapped stories back and forth, each offering up little pieces of the woman they had known.

Milah's parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings, so the room was occupied primarily by people she had thought of as friends. That was a nice thought, and in the coming weeks, Killian would be touched by the food, flowers, and cards that continued to arrive on his doorstep in memory of his wife.

But here, in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to find hope in anything.

+++++++

One Year Later

Was a house truly haunted if you didn’t mind the ghost?

It felt like a haunting for months after Milah’s funeral, this limbo state he found himself in, where he couldn’t bring his heart or his brain to fully comprehend that she was gone. They traded shifts in misunderstanding, his heart and brain. There were days where, logically, he understood his wife was dead. And yet, his heart still leaped at the sound of a car door shutting outside, or an imagined creak in the floorboards that sounded like her coming around the corner in the hall. Other days, his heartache was so profound, he could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. All too often, he’d forget, and for a few blissful minutes, reach for his phone to call her and ask her a question. Those were beautiful moments, the forgetting. But the remembering that followed took his breath away.

Then there were the things around the home he couldn’t bring himself to toss. Notes she’d left on the fridge, a grocery list on the table. Leftovers from her favorite meal at their favorite restaurant he couldn’t bring himself to throw away until they were fouling up the whole kitchen. Her phone was recovered from the accident and eventually made its way to him, via the detectives working the hit and run case. He went through her email drafts, texts, anything he could get his hands on that held pieces of Milah. He'd saved every voicemail she'd ever left him, had them memorized, and he'd play them when he missed her most, poking the bruise in his heart over and over until it numbed and didn't hurt so much. It all felt relatively harmless, like doing this to himself couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.

Until he found himself practically sobbing the floor of the shower one morning over a soggy clump of her hair he’d pulled from the drain.

He just couldn’t seem to pull himself together.

How do you bring yourself to purposefully excavate traces of someone from your life, after they’re gone, until it was like they weren’t even there at all, the life you shared existing only in snapshots and memories? How exactly does one get to that place, force yourself to loosen your grip on all you have left of the person you love, the person you’d give anything to see one last time? Killian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t picture himself ever ridding himself completely of Milah’s memory.

But he could stop leaving land mines for himself.

He’d always run a tight ship at home, in terms of cleanliness. He had never had much, by way of possessions, and wasn’t sentimental about keeping things. Now he found himself debating whether or not he should keep a note in the bathroom his wife had scrawled out for herself to remind herself to order new contacts. These were the silly, useless things he stared at for minutes on end, debating what to do with. This little scrap of her pretty handwriting he recognized and loved. The thought of it winding up in a landfill somewhere made him ill.

Eventually, he gathered these random scraps and pieces of her he’d found (except the clump of hair from the drain—that one did make it into the waste bin, thankfully) and gently shepherded them into a large Ziploc bag, which he kept in a box on her side of the closet.

Robin and Will called often, texted even more often, and even dropped by now and again. They offered their help constantly, gladly would have helped with menial tasks like this (like throwing away scraps of paper Milah might have touched, God, he was a mess), but he turned them away each time. He just wanted to shut the world out, encase himself in a tomb of his own grief.

He hadn’t even been able to see her, to say goodbye to her, because he hadn’t been bloody conscious for it. He had no memory of Robin telling him of her death; in the week following the accident, he left a slew of traumatized nurses in his wake as people had to tell him again and again for what felt like the first time that his wife was gone.

Milah, bless her ever-loving soul, had signed herself up to be an organ donor. Of course she had. On some level, he knew this. It was marked on her driver’s license, and it was surely something they had talked about at one point. But now he resented it, resented the whole idea of it. He resented anything that didn’t allow him to see his wife one last time. One doctor had had the absolute audacity to tell Killian that he didn’t want to see his wife, anyway; the damage from the accident had been too great, the brunt of which had gone to her head, and that it was a miracle her heart was still beating enough to allow for any organ transplants. Killian, for his part, had an entirely different definition of the word “miracle”.

So he waited to receive her ashes, held a funeral without her body. But he certainly didn’t wait patiently.

He wonders sometimes what she would think of what he's become. No doubt there would be times she'd laugh at how ridiculous he was being, debating on keeping an old, wet clump of her hair like some kind of serial killer, and the subsequent guilt he felt at throwing it away, this gross little piece of her DNA.

And yet, he reminds himself that there is, oddly, more of her DNA out there somewhere. Somewhere, out in the world, a select few of her vital organs are in new bodies, presumably thriving and keeping their hosts alive and well. Presumably, there are people out there who will be forever grateful for these pieces of his wife. Actual, living pieces of her. Killian has no idea how to feel about that, truly. There will come a day, when he is able to pull himself out of this darkness that perpetually feels more crushingly inescapable by the day, that he is able to see the true and abundant beauty in it. Milah, gone, but literal parts of her living on, providing life-giving support to someone else’s body and soul. That's the true miracle, really, and something he’d know she would be proud of.

For now, in the depths of his despair, he feels annoyed, indifferent at best. Her benevolent medical and scientific donation was, for many long months, the thing standing between him and a proper burial for his wife, the thing that stood in the way of closure and him being able to say goodbye to her properly. This is the thing his mind latched onto, chooses as a target for his blame.

Closure arrives on his doorstep one afternoon, boxed and bubble wrapped, in the form of an unassuming black urn. When he finally received her ashes, half a year after her death, he knew what he would do with them, knew immediately what she would want him to do with them. But he can’t yet bring himself to say goodbye, and the urn sat above their fireplace for months. This is the moment it hits him, truly, that she is gone. This is what it takes for it to finally sink in. He spends a long time building up the courage, brick by brick, to do what he needs to do. And as what would be her 37th birthday approaches on a warm July day, he finally gathered the strength to lay his wife to rest and honor her the way she deserved.

What he doesn’t appreciate about the day, however, is the weather, which turns out to be an absolutely perfect New England summer day, which Killian very much resented.

It was almost like it was mocking him. Jabbing a bright, sunshiny finger right into his face and laughing at his grief, which still, even almost a year after the death of his wife, was still a wound that had left him hollowed. When his brother had died, suddenly and with too much life left unlived, he'd felt like the ground itself had been pulled out from under him, and he'd been left in free fall. Now, with Milah gone, it felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and crushed in front of him.

How did people live like this?

If he were truly honest with himself, Killian wasn't certain what he was doing each day could actually be called living. He was alive, sure. Most days, the only thing that kept that from being true was the unknown lurking behind the veil of death. He had his own theories, his own hopes, for what awaited in a possible afterlife, but of course, no one really knows for sure until their time comes. He couldn't be sure what would happen to him, whether or not he'd see Milah, if he died tomorrow. Hell would be dying and not being reunited with her. And that was a hell whose existence he was not quite ready to test.

The closest thing he had to his wife now was resting in his lap, ashes encased in ceramic. He had taken a small, private sailboat out to sea, sailed until there was no one else in sight, trying to find a good spot to release her ashes to the ocean she had loved so much. It had been close to two hours, now; he knew he was putting off the inevitable. If he didn’t do it now, he feared, with good reason, that he never would.

The best part about giving someone’s ashes to the sea was that there wouldn’t be one particular spot where her body would be laid to rest. The waves would take the dust of her and spread it for him, from shore to shore, just like they had taken his brother’s ashes. There would be no headstone, but the ocean itself would remind him of her, and he could visit her anytime he liked on a sea that had always brought him a sense of serenity.

Killian Jones had never believed in soul mates until he’d met Milah. And he still didn't quite believe in them, in the traditional sense. He didn't believe in a ready-made mate just waiting for him to find her. No, in his experience, life was far from ever that easy or that simple. But things had changed for him when he'd met his wife. Then, with her love, the broken pieces in him, irrevocably shattered the day his brother had died, shifted together into something that could almost be held together again. With her, he’d felt more whole than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

She had been married at the time, when they’d met. Daydreaming of leaving her terrible husband, dreams which grew in intensity with each passing day. And while she hadn't exactly left him for Killian, she may has well have. Everything had changed for her that day, too.

For while Milah had been his partner, they hadn't met each other and been perfectly content. But they had made each other stronger, in all the ways that counted. Now he believed wholeheartedly that soul mates existed. But they weren't found, ready made and prepackaged. They were made, forged through love and hard work working hand in hand.

These were the things he thought, as the gentle salted breeze ruffled his hair and brought stinging tears to his eyes. As he looked down at the urn that held the last physical piece of the woman he’d loved, would always love, was lost and adrift without.

“I love you, Milah,” he whispered to the wind. The tightness in his throat and jaw wouldn’t let him say more, but he knew he didn’t need to. She’d known how much and how fiercely he’d loved her, and he had to think that wherever she was, she still knew the hold she had on him.

He held the urn against his chest with his prosthetic hand, working to unscrew the top. The breeze calmed at just the right moment, and as he leaned over the side of the ship to release Milah to the sea she'd loved, the dust of her settled gently down into the water.

=========

gonna tag a few folks who I think might care this is up (again, sorry if I already tagged you!) @spartanguard @sunbeamsandmoonrays @caprelloidea @kmomof4 @queen-mabs-revenge @ahsagitarius @galadriel26 @t-tamm-

@lavendersoapsuds @its-imperator-furiosa @midnightswans @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @withheartfulloflove @captainswan-middlemist @sarahreadsff @princesseslikepirates @winterbaby89 @pirateherokillian @wordslovedreams

@hannah-mic @thecraftyartist @blackwidownat2814 @once-uponacaptain @kylalovesbabeme @swiftmicheles @emmaswanstlk @captainswanslay

@the-tones-of-wallflowers @kday426 @krystalsficpage

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan fanfiction #return to me

31 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 2 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday: “One More” (part two)

Okay, here (at way too long last! ;p ) is the second part of Melanie’s @searchingwardrobes birthday gift fic, which I began way back in November! I don’t have much of an excuse for why it has taken me so long, other than that I have gotten too many WIPs going at once, and I’m having to take turns. Anyway, I also waited until I had the third installment ready to go as well, because ~*FAIR WARNING*~ this chapter is sad and angsty and I didn’t want to leave you with it for too long without the next update, I don’t even feel like I should make you wait a week. Just please know going into this one that this isn’t the end, and there’s more yet to come, so don’t give up hope... (I can already feel Krystal @kmomof4 scolding me for the angst and pain!)

Okay, without further stalling, Part Two of “One More”...

Summary: Through the years, Emma keeps waiting - one more placement, one more year, one more separation - until she can find where and with whom she truly belongs. It turns out the person to show her has been right beside her all the time...

{A 5 Part CS Modern AU}

From the beginning here on Tumblr, or on AO3 if you prefer

Part Two

by: @snowbellewells

ii. seventeen years old (three years later)

“Just one more year, Emma,” he assured earnestly, his sparkling eyes wide and imploring her to understand. “Just one more year and you’ll be fre to go wherever you want. We won’t be apart that long.”

Tilting her head to look up at her best friend, Emma blinked back the tears rapidly gathering behind her eyelids, determined not to let them fall where Killian could see. She nodded in agreement, logically knowing his words were true, but unable to deny the hurt that lanced through her at the thought of their parting. The ache in her chest expanded and grew with every breath she took.

For all her life, Emma had been alone. Oh, not physically - she had rarely experienced true privacy or had space to call her own - but emotionally, with no one to listen to her hopes, her fears, her secrets, to laugh with her over inside jokes, or to offer a shoulder when she needed to cry. Not until three years ago when she had almost literally fallen at Killian Jones’ feet. Since then, Killian, and his older brother Liam too, had become what seemed to Emma like her whole world; the best approximation of family that she had ever known. To think of him leaving her behind, when she was stuck in one place and unable to follow, was crushing. Even as she tried to seem supportive, it pained her more than she’d like to admit.

Perceptive as always, Killian paused in his torrent of explanation to really take in her expression, the struggle on her face no matter how she tried to mask it. Reaching up to brush his fingers under her eye, he subtly wiped away the errant tear she hadn’t yet realized she’d let fall. The enthusiasm he had been broadcasting was tempered with concern for her as he murmured lowly, “Hush now, Swan, what’s this? Surely it isn’t all for me.”

Emma bit her lip, shaking her head quickly in frustration at herself. She hadn’t wanted to dampen his excitement or hold him back from the opportunity before him. Grasping his hand abruptly before he could withdraw it, she clutched it in both of hers and interlaced their fingers as she pressed it to her chest. “Killian,” she choked out, trying to push past the emotion clogging her throat, “Of course it is! I want to be happy for you - I do - and I didn’t want to cry. B-but I’ll miss you so much. Without you… it’s lonely, Jones.”

He dipped his head to playfully waggle his eyebrows at her in the way he had that never failed to make her laugh. Emma shook her head at his antics, feeling the tiniest bit better in spite of nothing having changed. “Seriously, Jones?” she griped, equally in jest, even as she put her hand to his chest and shoved him away, disgruntled by his antics. She sniffled, the tracks of her tears drying as she found he had her laughing again, bouncing back from her push and wrapping her up tightly in a hug she couldn’t escape, no matter how much she wriggled or feigned protest.

In truth, for a moment she had to catch her breath and concentrate on not reacting to how much more solid and muscular his pectoral muscles felt under her palm and how wildly her heart fluttered when he pressed warm, full lips to the crown of her head as he held her close. Killian was no longer the lanky fourteen-year-old boy she had met on the front steps, though she had been under his spell even then.

No, he was nearly a man now, ready to strike out on his own and find what he was meant to do in the world. The military had served his older brother well, had even given Liam the means to take guardianship of his younger brother when his enlistment had ended about the same time their mother had passed away, leaving Killian all alone. She had heard Liam speak fondly of the places he had seen and the comradery he had shared with his fellow officers when they talked over supper sometimes while she was over at their house for the evening, or when the travel shows all three of them enjoyed happened to feature a place he had sailed. He didn’t bring it up all that often - Emma could sense without being told that the elder Jones never wished for his younger brother to feel guilt or like he had been a burden - but his fond reminiscence of the experience was clear nonetheless. Killian too spoke of his brother’s service with a definite sense of pride, looking up to the brother who was role model, parent, and friend rolled into one with a desire to follow in his footsteps.

This would allow him to do just that, as well as give him a real start in the world. They were two young men without much to their names. That he could then afford schooling when he returned was huge. Emma knew Killian wanted to prove himself, to show that what Liam had given up was worth the cost, for his big brother’s sake almost as much as his own. Even setting making Liam proud aside, Killian was smart. He wanted badly to go to college - either for marine biology or astronomy, most likely - whether he would usually admit it or not. This gave him that chance without putting he and Liam both into years of debt.

And he would be marvelous at it. Emma had no doubts about that. She might be biased, but there was literally nothing she had ever seen Killian Jones set out to do that he wasn’t brilliant at once he started.

So it was just the matter of the huge hole he would leave in her life while he was gone. She needed to try not to let him see how desolate the very thought made her feel. It wasn’t forever. Like he said, ‘just one more year’. She would be out of the system, graduated from high school, and free to go wherever he might end up. She could find a job, make her own money, and figure out what called to her, what she was meant to do as well. As long as he came back, and whatever she found was also with him nearby, everything would be fine. She could do this.

Offering him a crooked and rather wobbly smile, Emma returned Killian’s embrace, making him promise he would write every chance he got, and that he’d return with stories and pictures from all over to share with her. Meanwhile, he swore he’d be there with her again before she had a chance to really miss him. She nodded her agreement, already knowing that wasn’t possible. She would miss him the moment he left; like she had been split down the middle, like the other half of her body and soul was gone. It was the same empty feeling she’d carried with her from home to home, town to town, one foster family to another, until she’d ended up with Killian next door.

Emma didn’t want to go back to that, even if it was only temporary. But, if they had the rest of their lives afterwards, she could make do.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

It wasn’t until eight months later, when she saw through the screen door an unfamiliar and official-looking vehicle sliding silently up to park along the curb outside the Jones’ house that Emma truly feared her best friend might break his word. When two soldiers in dress uniform got out and moved slowly up the walk to Liam and Killian’s front door, one holding what even from a distance appeared to be a folded flag, Emma knew. Her head felt heavy, and she listed to the side as if she might fall over, dizzy and unable to see straight; suddenly she was unable to draw a full breath.

Liam came to tell her himself, an hour or so later, looking shrunken and pale to her eyes; his grief eating at him in a manner she knew all too well. Granted, Emma knew before he managed to tell her that Killian was gone, but that couldn’t have made putting it into words any easier for his elder sibling. They might be saying ‘missing’ rather than dead, but the detached, blank haze that had taken her over in order to survive didn’t seem to comprehend the difference. Liam promised he would tell her of anything he learned, that they should hold onto hope, that there was still a chance, and he assured her that she was still welcome at their house any time. She thanked him, promised to check in with him - though she wasn’t sure she could be in that house knowing that Killian wouldn’t be standing there again - and they hugged and cried together until both their eyes ran dry.

That night as she lay in bed unable to sleep, all Emma could think was that ‘one more year’ had become the rest of her life… and she was once again alone.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @cocohook38 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @stahlop @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @scientificapricot @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @let-it-raines @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @drowned-dreamer @kday426 @lfh1226-linda @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @cosette141 @sotangledupinit @booksteaandtoomuchtv @justanother-unluckysoul @bdevereaux @thislassishooked @blackwidownat2814 @tomeandflickcorner

#wip wednesday #five part cs modern au #one more #birthday fic for @searchingwardrobes #part two #cs angst #young emma #young killian #lieutenant duckling (sort of?)

13 notes · View notes

stahlop · 3 years ago

Text

The Night We Met

Summary:

Ever since Emma and Neal started dating, his roommate, Killian, has always been a jerk. But now that Emma and Neal have broken up, will she see Killian in a different light? Especially when she finds out the truth about why he's always hated her?

Rated M

Also on A03

Happy belated birthday @mariakov81! I have finally finished your birthday fic. I hope you enjoy this college/enemies to lovers/miscommunication au.

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for being my beta on this one.

-------------

“Ruby, I’m tired, I really don’t want to go to this party,” Emma whined as Ruby walked through her door.

“Too bad,” Ruby trilled at her. “You promised. You’ve been working like a dog. And besides, maybe you’ll get yourself laid tonight.” She smiled her wolfish grin at her.

“Ruby, I don’t need to get laid. I’m perfectly fine!” Emma huffed and settled herself back down into the couch cushions.

“Emma,” Ruby said, sitting next to her on their overly plush couch. She threw back her red tinged, brown locks, and grabbed Emma’s hands from where she’d had her arms crossed over her chest in indignation. “You have not been with anyone since you and Neal broke up. Not even a one-night stand or a rebound to get over him. I know he hurt you..”

“He fucking cheated on me for half of our three year relationship, Ruby!” Emma said, pulling her hands back and willing the tears that pricked her eyes not to fall. She wasn’t going to get upset about fucking Neal again. “Thank goodness I always insisted on condoms even though I was on birth control. Who knows what kinds of diseases he could’ve picked up.” The memory of finding Neal with another woman in their bed was seared into her memory. The fact that he’d apparently been cheating on her with multiple women over the course of their relationship made her feel like the biggest failure on the planet. But Emma always got left, always, so she really shouldn’t have been too surprised.

“I know what you’re thinking, Emma Swan, and it’s not true. You did not deserve this.” Emma raised her eyes to look at her roommate. How the hell could she always read her mind? “I know you,” Ruby said as if she had, in fact, read her mind. “I’ve known you since we were 15 and Granny took you in off the streets, fed you, and never let you leave.” Emma smiled at the memory. As a 15-year-old foster kid runaway, Emma had tried to take some food from Ruby’s grandmother’s diner dumpsters, but had been caught by Granny herself. Emma had thought she would call the cops on her, as had been her experience, but instead, she called 15-year-old Ruby down from the apartment over the diner and together, they had made what Emma had constituted as a feast (really just grilled cheese, steamed broccoli, onion rings, a hot chocolate with whipped cream, and a piece of cherry pie for dessert). Emma had made to leave as they’d done their good deed for the day, but they insisted on Emma staying in their spare room (and with a stern warning from Granny that if anything were missing in the morning, she would hunt her down). And somehow, Emma had fought the urge to run, and eventually, Granny ended up getting permission to foster her, and she had never left. Now she and Ruby were finishing up their senior year of college and Emma did not need her foster sister to try and convince her to go to some end of the year college house party.

“Look, Neal was a raging douche. I’m just sorry he had to break your heart for you to see it. But it’s been six months, Emma. It’s time to end the wallowing and come out!” Ruby gave her a stern look and Emma knew she was done for. She could never say no to that look, and Ruby knew it.

“Fine!” Emma practically bolted off the couch. “But don’t expect me to have any fun,” she warned as she headed off to her bedroom to change.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ruby said, waving her hand behind her as she went through the door of her own room.

-------------

Emma sighed a breath of relief as she sat down in the recently vacated spot on the couch. There was a couple making out on the other end of the couch, but as long as they didn’t invade her space, she wasn’t too worried about them. She’d been making the rounds with Ruby for the past hour and the heels that she’d picked out to wear were not being kind to her feet whatsoever.

She had just grabbed her phone out of her wristlet, flicked her blonde hair back behind her, and was just about to check the time when she heard his voice.

“Fancy seeing you here, Swan.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she knew more would be coming. “This doesn’t really seem like your scene,” the heavily accented, British voice continued on.

“And what exactly is my scene, Jones?” Emma didn’t even look up from her phone, just opened it up and started to scroll through Instagram so that she didn’t have to actually speak to him. She groaned when she felt the couch dip next to her. She glanced past him to where the couple had been making out just seconds ago, but it seemed as if they’d decided to take their activities to someplace more private.

“Aren’t you usually at bars or at Neal’s place?” Emma wasn’t sure if he was asking a genuine question, or if he just didn’t have a good zinger for her (which was pretty much his thing). But it was obvious from his answer that he didn’t know some important information.

“Neal and I broke up,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant and not like her heart was still breaking six months later. It wasn’t even Neal she was upset about, it was the being lied to and cheated on part that still got her upset. That she had put her heart out there and Neal had essentially stomped all over it, making her feel like that lost girl all over again. She looked over at him expecting to see an ‘I told you so’ smirk on his face, but instead, he looked rather upset.

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he said, a solemn expression washing over his face. “I truly am. I know how happy you two were.” Emma almost burst out laughing.

“Are you mocking me, Killian?” She wasn’t angry, just confused. “Because I seem to recall you not liking me at all when Neal and I were dating. Considering you were his roommate for most of the time we were together, I rarely ever saw you. And when I did you showed your disdain toward me pretty flagrantly.” Great. Now she was all riled up again. The last thing she needed tonight was to get into an argument with Killian Jones who had been the bane of her existence when she and Neal were together.

The expression on his face morphed from concern to pure anger after her little outburst. “I don’t even know why I try with you, Swan.” He pushed himself up off the couch and started to walk off before he stopped sharply, turned around, and came back over to her.

“I don’t know what I ever did for you to be so combative towards me, but now that you're not with Neal I don’t have to put up with it anymore. Go screw yourself!” Emma watched in shock as he stalked away from her and started up the stairs. The few people who were in the room with her all had looks of disbelief on their faces at the scene that had just transpired. Emma felt her whole body start to flush in embarrassment before she realized that she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Who the fuck does he think he is? she thought, her embarrassment now turning to anger. She and Killian had always had an antagonistic relationship. They had never gotten along. Well, technically, that wasn’t true. She’d actually met him before Neal as they’d had a class together sophomore year, but they’d only made small talk at that point. They’d flirted a bit and she’d thought he’d been interested, but then Neal had asked her out instead and Killian had made it clear that not only had he not been interested (what with the girlfriend Neal told her he had), but that he really didn’t like her at all. Every time she’d go over to their apartment, no matter what she said, he retorted back with some kind of insult or sarcastic comment. It had almost been a relief when he’d moved out a year and a half into her and Neal’s relationship.

“You try with me?” she asked incredulously, running after him up the stairs and trying not to knock over any of the, most likely, drunk people who were congregating there. Killian turned around toward her, his blue eyes flashing angrily at her. He looked like he was going to say something back to her, but then his whole body deflated with a resigned sigh that said ‘Great, I guess we’re doing this.’ And before Emma could even comprehend what was happening, he’d grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty bedroom right off the stairs, locking the door behind them.

“Did you know?” she asked before he could get a word in.

“Know what, Swan?” Killian asked as if this whole thing was an inconvenience for him, even though he was the one who dragged her into the room.

Emma let out an exasperated sigh. “That Neal was cheating on me?” Killian’s eyes went wide for a split second before he tried to cover it up with a look of disbelief, but that was enough for Emma to see that, yes, he indeed knew that Neal had been cheating on her.

“Wow,” Emma said, trying to blink back the tears that had started pricking her eyes, all the fight leaving her body. “I knew you hated me, but I never expected you to sit idly by while Neal cheated on me.” She sank down on the bed and proceeded to use the heel of her hand to try and stop the tears from actually falling. She glanced a look at Killian, expecting to see him gloating or a mirthful smile gracing his lips, but instead, he looked absolutely crestfallen.

“I had my suspicions,” he began, running his hands through his hair, making it stand straight up and yet still making him look devilishly handsome, not that Emma was noticing. Nope. She was too upset to notice how Killian looked. “I confronted Neal about it and he told me to mind my own business. That’s why I moved out. I may be a bit of a scoundrel, Swan, but it’s bad form to cheat.” He made a move to sit down next to her on the bed, pausing to silently ask permission before she nodded yes and the bed dipped next to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you even suspected?” Emma asked. She was staring at the god awful bedspread they were sitting on. It looked like it was denim with rhinestones all over it. How could that be comfortable to sleep on? She felt the bed shake and saw Killian scratching behind his ear, a nervous tell she’d noticed over the years. She wondered why he was nervous talking to her right now.

“Honestly, Swan, I figured you wouldn’t believe me. I mean,” he paused for a moment as if he were going to reveal some big unspoken truth between them, “you did choose him over me. I didn’t want to come off as jealous and petty.” She nodded as if that made sense, but then realized it made no sense.

Jealous and petty?

Chose Neal over him?

“What the hell are you talking about, Killian?” The sadness that she’d been feeling was replaced by utter confusion.

Killian took a deep breath as if he couldn’t believe they were going to discuss this. “Look, I know you always felt a bit uncomfortable about me being Neal’s roommate, since you rejected me so grandly. I guess that’s why I was always so sarcastic toward you -”

“No, seriously, Killian,” she said, cutting him off, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. When did I reject you?” She’d turned to face him now. She was sure her face had the most puzzled expression on it since this conversation had taken a turn. Killian’s eyes searched hers as if looking for the prank she was playing on him, but when he couldn’t, he continued talking.

“That night in the bar. You rejected me and chose Neal,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I know I keep saying this, Jones, but what the hell are you talking about? I never even spoke to you the night Neal and I got together in the bar. How could I have rejected you?” God, had she drank more than she thought that this whole conversation with Killian made no sense whatsoever? Killian let out a huff of frustration.

“I was perfectly happy never to bring this up, since you never did, but I guess we’re finally going to have this out. That night. At the bar. I thought we were flirting. It seemed like we were flirting.”

They had been flirting. She’d been waiting for her friends at a table by herself when she’d noticed Killian Jones from her biology class sitting with Neal at a table across the room. They’d practically been eye fucking each other from their perspective tables when Neal had walked over to her table and surprised her by asking her out instead.

“You had a girlfriend!” Emma said, accusingly. And now she was back to being angry. She jumped up from the bed, intent on leaving the room. Why the hell did he feel the need to rehash all this from three years ago? She’d felt humiliated when Neal had told her Killian had a girlfriend. She must have completely imagined the flirting that she thought he’d been reciprocating.

“What are you going on about, Swan?” he asked. Apparently it was Killian’s turn to be confused. He was wearing the most perplexed look on his face that Emma had ever seen.

“Your girlfriend, Mia, or Mina, or whatever. You were dating her when Neal and I started seeing each other, so you couldn’t have been flirting with me!” Emma was exhausted from this whole exchange. She knew she shouldn’t have let Ruby convince her to come out tonight. And here she was only, she checked the digital alarm clock sitting on the nightstand, one hour into the party and she was already fighting with Jones. And she wasn’t even sure what they were fighting about this time. Just that she felt like she was reliving one of the more embarrassing interactions she’d had with him.

Killian sat there looking shell shocked. “Milah?” he asked incredulously. Emma shrugged. “Neal’s cousin? I never dated her. I met her at a party, once. The party you came to as Neal’s girlfriend for the first time. Whatever gave you the idea I was dating her?”

Emma furrowed her brow, trying to recall that night three years ago. “Neal told me you were,” she said slowly. Killian scrunched his face in a look of confusion. He headed back over to the bed and sat down. He looked like he was thinking about something and Emma started to feel like an intruder in the room. She was about to suggest she head back to the party when he patted the spot next to him.

“Come sit, Swan. I feel like we need to clear the air about a few things.” The solemn look on his face was enough for Emma to follow his instructions. After she’d settled herself on a patch of the bedspread that did not contain rhinestones trying to puncture her through her jeans, Killian began to speak. “Let me see if I have the order of events correct from that night in the bar. You and I were flirting.” Emma attempted to interrupt him by reminding him that she was flirting, but she’d obviously misinterpreted his intentions, but he put his pointer finger to her lips to stop her. “Sh Sh Shush. It’s storytime,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So, you and I were flirting, or, at least, I was flirting. I was flirting with you in our bio class at school and I couldn’t believe my luck that you were sitting there at that all ages college bar flirting with me. But, I wasn’t as confident back then, so when Neal offered to be my wingman and kind of feel you out about your feelings for me, I jumped on the opportunity. I sat there watching the conversation from my table. I watched you smile at him and then look over at me and my heart practically soared out of my chest that you might be agreeing to pursue something with me. And then your face fell and you looked over at me again, but this time with a little more scorn in it, and then you and Neal just kept talking and talking, and the longer I sat there the more I felt like the biggest fool just sitting there. I could tell your affections had shifted. And then Neal came back over to me after you’d finished talking and told me how you’d really been flirting with him and that you’d agreed to go on a date with him, and better luck next time.” Killian hadn’t looked at her throughout the entire part of his story, probably afraid to see her reaction to it. Probably afraid that she would be mocking him in some way since that’s what their relationship had been since she’d been with Neal, and now she understood why.

“But, that’s not what happened,” Emma said with an anguished cry. Killian’s face snapped up toward hers so fast she thought he might have hurt something. “I was flirting with you. I’d been crushing on you so hard. And then you were in the bar. I wanted to come over and talk with you, but I didn’t want to lose the table I was saving for my friends. When Neal came over, I thought maybe you’d sent him instead. But then he told me that you hadn’t been flirting, that I must have misinterpreted. That you had been with your girlfriend, Milah, for a while now, and could I possibly consider getting to know him and go out on a date with him instead. And I felt like the biggest fool,” she said repeating his words back to him, “but Neal was cute and nice and I thought, why not. And then he brought me to that party and Milah was all over you and that just confirmed to me that everything I thought had been happening between us was just in my head, so I agreed to be Neal’s girlfriend that night.” A thought struck her and she gasped.

“That’s why you’ve been so mean to me? You thought I rejected you for Neal?” She felt horrible now, knowing the truth.

“Aye,” he said, scratching that area behind his ear again. “I admit, I didn’t deal with my feelings about being rejected that well. And the fact that you never said anything about it perturbed me too.”

“He played us both. He was supposed to be your friend and instead he screwed you for a girl.” Emma had thought she’d been pissed at Neal when she’d discovered he’d been cheating, but now she was angrier than she’d ever thought she could be. Neal was the worst of the worst. And to top it all off, he had stopped whatever could have potentially happened between her and Killian from happening.

“It was part of why I moved out. Besides suspecting him of cheating on the most glorious woman I’d ever laid eyes on, I just couldn’t see you two together anymore. It hurt too much.” He gave a shy smile which looked odd on his ruggish face.

“Ugh! Neal is the biggest asshole ever. What the hell did I ever see in him?” Emma asked.

“You see what you want to see when you’re in love,” Killian answered. Emma bit her lip, replaying everything she’d just learned. The last three years had been built on a lie. Neal was the biggest asshole to the tenth degree and Killian was sitting here looking at her as if she hung the moon.

Killian was looking like a man in love.

Emma had thought he was cute back in their freshman year when he’d still had lanky limbs that didn’t seem to fit his body and could barely grow facial hair. And now here he was sitting in front her, his body lean and muscular, beautiful scruff covering the lower half of his face, and a thatch of chest hair sitting exposed from where he’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt (something she always had complained to Neal about when she thought she hated him, but she’d really always wanted to run her fingers through it). She looked up into his eyes and noticed that they were practically black. Only a sliver of blue iris ringed the outside of the pupil. Emma could feel her heart starting to pound in her chest. She’d hated him until only mere minutes ago, hadn’t she? Until the revelation of Neal’s manipulation had come to light. Or had she simply been masking her feelings by engaging in his hateful banter? It only took a split second for her to decide what to do.

She grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and hauled his lips to hers. If Killian seemed surprised by this turn of events, he didn’t show it all, as he immediately started kissing her back. His scruff on her chin felt delightful, his lips were soft on hers, and his hand had threaded its way into her hair and the slight pull felt amazing. She ran her hands through his hair and reveled at how soft it felt. She broke the kiss for a moment to get some air, their foreheads resting against each other, both of them panting.

“That was…” he began.

“Long overdue,” Emma finished before she went in for another kiss. But Killian stopped her before her lips could reach his. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but for a totally different reason than it was before. She couldn’t have possibly misread the situation again.

“You don’t want me anymore,” she stated softly, pulling away from him before she could embarrass herself any further. But he wouldn’t let her out of his grip.

“On the contrary, I want you very much.” Emma bit her lip and couldn’t stop the smile that overcame her lips. “I just…” he huffed, most likely trying to find the right words to say what he wanted without offending her. “We’ve spent the last three years believing we hated each other, and I just want to make sure this isn’t a one time thing, because I never hated you, Emma.” The sound of her name, and not Swan, did things to her that she never knew just a voice could do. She gently cupped his face in her hand and gave a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Killian, I fully intend for this to be more than a one time thing. So please, just kiss me again?” And with that, he surged forward and gave in to her request.

This kiss was nothing like the last one. This one was full of want, passion, and love (yes, love; Emma may have still loathed him earlier tonight, but she would be the first to admit that there was a thin line between love and hate, and it had now been crossed).

Killian started peppering her jaw with kisses, finding a particular spot right before her ear which made her moan with pure lust. “Swan,” he growled into her ear, his breath making her whole body shiver, “you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted to hear you make those noises because of me.” He bit down on her ear lobe, soothing it with his tongue as she made another obscene noise that in all her time with Neal she’d never heard herself make. “Do you know what it does to a man when the object of his desire is getting off by someone else in the next room with thin walls? It was absolute torture.” He moved back down her jaw, kissing her lips again before moving to the other side.

“In all honesty, you mostly heard me faking it,” Emma laughed. She honestly never knew it could feel this good and they were only kissing.

Killian pulled away from the ear he’d been sucking on and faced her with a troubled look. “Please tell me my former prick of a roommate gave you some orgasms during your tenure together?” Emma almost laughed at the level of concern on his face, but she knew he was being serious so she held it in.

“I mean, he gave me some,” she shrugged. “But he was the only guy I’d ever been with, so I don’t really have a lot to compare him to.” Killian looked even more insulted at that statement.

“Swan,” Killian said, grabbing her hands. “You are a goddess and I’ll show you how you should be worshipped properly.” He punctuated this statement with another bruising kiss.

Emma sat slack jawed at his words. Never had anyone spoken to her like Killian did. Like she was worthy of being ‘worshipped’ as he’d put it. So she just nodded in agreement.

“Emma --”

“Killian --”

They both gave a small laugh having spoken at the same time.

“Emma, I just want you to know that no matter what happens tonight, I want to be whatever you want us to be. Whatever we become is as much up to you as it is to me.” So much more romantic than Neal’s ‘So I wanna if you wanna,’ Emma thought.

“Are you trying to make sure I’m okay with this, Killian? Because I am. I liked you back before Neal, and I thought I’d been wrong about you being this nice guy, but I still always had a thing for you, even when we were... mortal enemies.” More laughter emanated from them. “But I want this. I really want this.” She took her free hand and moved a piece of hair that was dangling over his eye away. “And I want to explore what could’ve been if He Who Shall Not Be Named hadn’t interfered for his own selfish reasons.” They both smiled at that. Emma could see his blue eyes twinkling. She thought he was going to kiss her again, but he let go of her hand and got up off the bed and motioned for her to do the same. Emma was confused until he began turning the bed down for them to get more comfortable.

“Oh, so now you’re a gentleman?” she asked jokingly.

“I’m always a gentleman,” he replied back. And then he grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a kiss. “But right now, I want to tear off this ridiculous comforter,” Killian ripped it off the bed revealing the normal looking sheets underneath, “so I can get you into that bed, tear off all your clothes, and hear you scream my name.” He growled into her ear as he tongued it. His voice went straight to her clit and she swore she might come from his voice alone.

Killian moved her hair off her shoulder as his lips began their assault on it. Emma had never been so glad she’d chosen the off-the-shoulder top she was wearing for the party that night. She started to unbutton her blouse to move things along, but Killian swatted her hands away.

“No, Swan. I will not have you ruining my fun by having you undress yourself. I intend to unwrap you myself. I’ve waited too long for this to be a quick fuck.” Emma shivered at his words. Never in a million years would she have thought Killian would have been a dirty talker. And she never realized that it would turn her on so much.

His scruff was scratching her neck in the best way as his lips went back to her neck. Her hands went to the thatch of hair peeking out from the top of his shirt and Emma decided that if she wasn’t allowed to unbutton her top, she could certainly start unbuttoning his. The chest hair was something she’d always wanted to run her fingers through. With every button she opened, more and more hair was revealed. She ran her fingers through it as Killian moved back to her mouth.

“Please, Killian,” she begged as she got to the last button on his shirt. He removed his arms from the sleeves while still keeping his lips on hers, although she could feel him smile as she begged. He continued to unbutton her blouse with his deft fingers and discarded her shirt onto the floor.

“Better?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow in the sexiest way she’d ever seen.

“Not even close,” she panted. The black, strapless lace bra she was wearing felt too constricting, and as much as Killian had wanted to ‘unwrap’ her himself, she reached behind her back to unhook the offending material. The eyebrow raised again as he stepped back to see what she had done, but then his eyes widened when he saw what was underneath her bra.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Emma,” Killian whispered in awe and before she could say anything back, he started kissing her again. This time, Emma pulled him down onto the bed with her. They found a comfortable position with her on her back and him between her thighs. His lips seemed to be everywhere: lips, jaw, neck, collarbone. He was kissing a path down to her breasts and she was rubbing her jeans against the large bulge she could feel through his.

“Someone is impatient,” he smirked into the top of her breast before his teeth clamped down over her nipple.

“Fuck, Killian!” she said as he immediately laved his tongue over the now peaked nipple. The smirk returned.

“All in good time.” He moved over to the other nipple and repeated the same movements with his teeth and tongue. Emma had never felt these feelings before. Neal had barely done any foreplay, and Emma, having not been that experienced, just figured that was normal. Now she was mentally berating herself for missing out on this the past few years. But she needed to stop thinking about Neal when she had Killian’s mouth heading south. His tongue dipped into her navel and Emma swore she was going to come before he even got her jeans off. She never knew someone’s tongue could feel that erotic on her skin.

“Is this okay?” Killian asked as his fingers came up to the button on her jeans. Emma could only nod, her mouth not seeming to work. He popped the button and Emma lifted up her ass so Killian could slide her jeans and underwear down (just plain cotton which she was highly regretting right now; at least she’d had the forethought to shave before the party). He continued to kiss down her body as her jeans slid off, leaving her completely nude. For the first time that night, Emma began to feel self conscious about the position she was in. She and Killian had hated each other up until an hour ago, was it really prudent of her to sleep with him already? Maybe they should slow things down. She was just about to voice this when his tongue made contact with her clit and all rational thought went out the window.

“Oh, God!” she screamed and her hands involuntarily went to his lucious, brown locks and pulled him even closer.

“Killian will do,” he said, smiling into her. “So wet for me, Swan.” He began licking her like a man possessed and Emma had never been this crazed from oral sex in her life. She was pretty much fucking his face and Killian seemed to be enjoying it. He sucked her clit between his lips and Emma knew she was so close. Killian took his pointer and middle fingers and slipped them into her wet heat, thrusting them back and forth until he finally found the spot that would make her come undone. “Come for me, Swan,” he growled in a commanding tone. He gave one final suck and her body exploded.

Emma knew she was mumbling nonsensical words as Killian continued to lick and pump his fingers more slowly now, bringing her down from her high. Never in all her life, not by her own hand or any other boy’s (because that’s what they all were, boys) had she ever had an orgasm so strong. Emma was vaguely aware that Killian was now kissing back up her body: a small nip to her hip, his tongue licking a stripe up the side of her stomach, his teeth grazing the side of her breast. His hand was still in between her legs easing her down from her intense orgasm.

“Oh my fucking God, Killian!” she panted out, her heart still beating frantically in her chest.

“Sounds like you enjoyed that.” He smirked. That smirk always used to annoy her, but now it was the sexiest thing Emma had ever seen. She grabbed Killian by the hair and crashed her lips onto his. She could taste her essence on his lips and it was intoxicating. Emma never thought she would be turned on by that. She was learning a lot about herself tonight. Like the fact that she was completely nude and Killian was still half dressed.

“Lose the pants, Killian.” She’d found her way to the tip of his pointed ear. Another thing she’d always found annoying about him and now she found hot as fuck.

“As the lady wishes.” He stood up and began to unbutton his pants as Emma started stroking his chest hair. He was wearing a pair of black boxer briefs underneath that did nothing to hide his erection and for the first time, Emma realized that all the sexual innuendos he’d dropped over the years were not because he was compensating for something. He could really back up everything.

“Fuck, Killian!” Emma breathed out as he pulled his boxer briefs down to meet his pants that were at his knees. Emma knelt down to pull them off the rest of the way, Killian watching her intensely, and found herself eye to ….cock. He was so much bigger than Neal, and it was nicer looking, what with the manscaping he’d obviously done. Neal had just been a hairy mess. But Killian, well, Emma never thought she’d describe a man’s penis as beautiful, but that’s what this was. She gently brushed her thumb over the tip, a hiss emanating from Killian’s lips as he sat back on the bed. She wrapped her small hand around it and looked up at him. “Is this okay?” She echoed back his words from before, and just as she had, he nodded, too much in awe that this was actually happening.

Emma pumped him up and down slowly, her thumb grazing the tip each time. His shaft was velvety smooth under her touch. She was gearing herself up to lick him; it was not something she had particularly enjoyed doing for Neal. Killian must have sensed her hesitation because the next thing she knew, he was hauling her up into his lap. She immediately became wetter the moment his cock rubbed against her already damp folds.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, love.” He brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear before kissing her again. “Besides, if you put your mouth on me, I’d probably finish there and I want to feel you around me.” Emma could feel her cheeks redden, but then started rubbing herself against him. The noise Killian made was probably the most amazing noise she’d ever heard and she doubled her efforts rubbing against him just to hear him make it again.

“One moment,” he said, maneuvering himself to grab his pants. He quickly pulled out his wallet and grabbed the foil-wrapped condom from inside, then deposited his wallet back in his pants before dropping them back on the floor. Emma was busy giving sloppy kisses along the column of his neck when she heard the foil rip, and she lifted up slightly so his cock stood in between them looking red and angry. Emma had never seen an erection look so hard. She plucked the condom from his hand and pulled it down herself (and honestly, she never thought putting a condom on could be so damn sexy).

“Ready, Swan?” he asked. Emma didn’t even give a verbal answer. She grabbed his cock, lifted herself over it, and slowly sank down on him, adjusting to his length and girth.

“Fuck!” she moaned when he was finally seated completely within her. Killian kissed her passionately, his tongue plunging into the depth of her mouth and tangling with hers. She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth, and she could swear she felt him get even harder inside her.

“You need to move, Swan,” he bit out. Emma lifted herself up, and slammed back down on him. God, she’d never felt so full in her life. She never wanted this feeling to end. She continued to fuck herself on him, her hands on his shoulders to lift herself up higher, his hands under her ass to do the same. She’d never fucked anyone like this before. Neal had always insisted on missionary style, which Emma was now realizing was probably the only way he could get off. This position felt fucking amazing and she was pissed at herself for never trying it before. But she needed something more.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she screamed as his hand moved from her ass to in between them and made contact with her clit. That was exactly what she needed. He continued to rub it as hard as he could. It was too much, yet not enough. She was almost there.

“Let go, Emma. I promise I’ll catch you.” And that was all it took. Emma lifted up off him completely and had the most fucking intense orgasm she’d ever had in her life. Even more powerful than the one he’d brought her to before. Everything seemed to go black and then next thing she knew, Killian had turned them over so she was on her back and he thrust himself back inside her.

Emma didn’t even get to contemplate how fast he’d changed their position when another orgasm rocked her due to the angle of his cock inside her and a well placed thumb on her already swollen clit. “Killian!” she screamed, her voice starting to feel hoarse from all the screaming she’d been doing. He rode her out until she finally felt him still and he grunted, emptying himself into the condom.

Killian collapsed on top of her. He was heavy, but Emma decided she didn’t really mind. She liked the way he felt. With Neal, she’d just wanted him off of her right away, mainly because he’d fall asleep almost instantaneously and then she’d be trapped beneath him. Almost as if he was reading her mind, Killian rolled off of her. Emma immediately missed the warmth of him, but he quickly took off the condom, wrapped it in some tissues from the box on the nightstand, and threw it away in the garbage can. Then he pulled her into him so their foreheads were touching, and Emma thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had done for her after sex. She kissed him, a short and sweet kiss, just to let him know that this wasn’t just sex. She hoped that it conveyed what she was too afraid to say. But then, she decided to say it anyway.

“Killian,” she began, “would you like to go out on a date...or something?” she mumbled, her confidence waning after she mentioned the word date.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?” Killian teased as a wide smile graced his handsome face. She blushed. After everything they’d just done and she blushed when he teased her. She had it bad. “Yes, Emma, I would be honored to go out with you. But please let me plan the date,” he said earnestly. How could she resist when he had the puppy dog face going. She kissed him in agreement.

“And now, love,” he said hesitantly, “I think you and I should get out of this bed, considering it doesn’t belong to either of us. And who knows how many other people have used this bed for this exact same purpose.” That made Emma jump up almost immediately. God, she hoped whoever's house this was they washed the sheets before they’d made the bed.

They quickly got their clothes back on (and Emma didn’t even want to think about the mess her hair probably was), and Emma pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans that had been discarded, noticing there were a few text messages from Ruby.

“Shit! Ruby’s been trying to get a hold of me. She wanted to leave half an hour ago.” She frantically started texting Ruby to tell her where she was, but Killian took the phone from her hand and deleted the text.

“Tell her you’ve gone home with someone and you’ll see her in the morning.” Emma looked at him quizzically.

“Am I going home with someone?” Killian’s cheeks went red all the way to the tips of his elfin ears and his hand went to the back of his neck.

“Only if the lady would like to.”

Emma debated making him even more nervous, but couldn’t contain herself. “The lady would like to, Killian,” she said, giving a small smile. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles and Emma thought she might melt on the spot. How could she have ever hated him? Oh right, her jerk ex. She quickly sent a text off to Ruby.

He unlocked the door and they stepped out into the, thankfully, empty hallway. They could still hear the party going on downstairs, and lots of moaning coming from the other rooms in the hall. They both gave each other slightly embarrassed grins.

“Come, love, let’s take this somewhere more private,” Killian said smugly; Emma nodded in agreement and they headed down the stairs… and ran smack into Neal.

He looked, if Emma was being honest, like crap. His hair was disheveled, and not in the way Killian’s was looking because of her pulling on it during sex, and there were bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

“Emma!” Neal said, his face lighting up. “Boy, am I ever glad to see you.”

“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” Emma snapped. The euphoria she had just experienced with Killian was quickly fading into revulsion. She gave Killian’s fingers a quick squeeze so he knew she was not going to let Neal ruin their night. He gave her a squeeze back in understanding.

“Oh, come on Ems, don’t be like that,” he said, flashing that grin that always used to make her weak in the knees. Now it just made her want to vomit. What the hell did she ever see in him? Had she really been that desperate to be loved? Neal reached out to grab her hand and Emma could see the confusion when he realized one hand was occupied, and then the look of realization when he finally noticed Killian standing beside her.

“What the hell is this?” Neal asked angrily, like he had any reason to be angry. “You making a move on my girl, man? I thought we were friends!” Emma actually burst out laughing at that remark. Both Neal and Killian looked at her bewildered.

“First off, Neal,” she said, giving him a fierce push against his chest, her laughter giving way to irritation, “I’m no longer your girl. I haven’t been your girl in six months. And,” she gave him another push, “you were cheating on me for half of our relationship, so I really haven’t been your girl in a long time.”

“Ems, I can explain…”

“No, you can’t explain, Neal. And even if you could, I don’t want to hear it. And as for Killian being your friend,” she gave a glance to Killian and gave him a huge smile before returning her look toward Neal, “friends don’t steal the girl their other friend is interested in and then lie to both of them about it for years.” Another push. Neal’s face went practically white. “Yeah, we figured some things out tonight about the night we met.” She scowled at him to let him know that she meant business.

“I..” But Emma was done with this.

“I don’t want to hear it, Neal.” And with that, she walked past Neal, her hand in Killian’s to really make her point that she was no longer his.

“Your loss, mate,” Killian said with a smirk and gave a salute as Emma pulled him along. They ran out the front door into the cool spring air. When they made it to Killian’s car (a Chevelle that Emma remembered he rebuilt himself) they stopped to catch their breath. Emma could feel Killian’s eyes on her, silently watching her to see her reaction.

“Emma, I’d understand if we’ve moved too fast and you want to slow things down,” Killian said quickly. It’s as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t say it fast enough, she’ll say something to end what has barely begun between them. Emma gets it. She walked over to him. He’s busily looking anywhere but at her, while scratching that spot behind his ear. It’s utterly adorable.

“Killian?” She’s standing directly in front of him and the surprise look on his face when he finally does look at her is priceless. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing. And I definitely don’t want to slow things down.” And with that declaration, she grabbed his face, pulled his lips to hers, and kissed him with everything she had in her. It took Killian a moment to catch up with her, his lips finally kissing hers back after a slight gasp of surprise into her mouth that made her smile, almost giggle even.

They finally separated and got into Killian’s car, both of them quietly contemplating, with anticipation, what the future held for them as they drove silently back to his apartment.

In the morning, Emma expected to feel the urge to run, to feel they moved too fast. But she doesn’t feel any of that. He pulled her in tight in his half asleep state, making her feel safe as she cuddled into his chest, and Emma wondered how she ever could have hated him the way she thought she did.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @qualitycoffeethings @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @klynn-stormz @tiganasummertree @therooksshiningknight @teamhook @deckerstarblanche @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @wefoundloveunderthelight @earanemith

#happy birthday mariakov81 #csau #cs college au #cs au #past swanfire #enemies to lovers

62 notes · View notes

walviemort · 3 years ago

Text

Fairy Godfather, part 1

Summary: The fairies have asked a monumental favor of Killian: be the surrogate for their babies—all nine of them. He's been pregnant before, but this? This is a whole other level. What has he gotten himself into? And just how big will he get?

A/N: As usual, the muse has gone off and done whatever it wants to do, rather than, y'know, work on a WIP. Alas. The idea for this came about when I sent @sancocnutclub this picture of a woman who was supposedly pregnant with 10 babies; it has since come out as a hoax, but dang—her BUMP. Subsequent doodling and headcanoning brought about this story (also partly inspired by a conversation with SherlockianWhovian a while back), and here we are! I should note that this also takes place after a couple of past one-shots, which can be found here and here. Hope you like it!

rated T / 3k words / AO3

Of all the requests put in front of Killian in his long life, this was by far the oddest.

“You want me...to carry babies...for how many of you?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around the query.

“Nine,” Blue answered matter-of-factly. “Normally, it wouldn’t be so many, but we’re past due for a brood. There was just no one around who we thought could handle it.”

“And he can?” Emma was at his side in the booth at Granny’s, where Blue and Tink had requested to meet with them. Their daughter, Hope, was sitting in the high chair at the end of the table, making a mess of some oatmeal.

“It helps if they’ve given birth before,” Tink replied. Well, he had done that—not intentionally, but he had been the one to carry and birth Hope, who was 10 months old now.

And while it had ended up being a beautiful experience, he obviously had reservations. “Yes, but that was only one baby—and you genuinely think I can handle nine?”

“We do,” Blue confirmed. “And we’d obviously provide as much help as we can.”

“It also wouldn’t be like a normal human pregnancy,” Tink added. “No morning sickness or cravings, or anything like that.”

“No, I’d just be massive,” he sighed; memories of his own perceived whale-like proportions toward the end of his pregnancy with Hope were still fresh; this had potential to put that to shame.

“Well, fairy newborns are smaller than the average human infant—less than 4 pounds. But yes, you would go full term.” Blue was awfully clinical in her statements.

Killian glanced down at his midsection, which had yet to fully regain its previous flatness, and he doubted it ever would. Especially not if he agreed to this. “I’m really your only option?” he asked again. “What about David?”

“It’s too soon,” Blue answered. David gave birth a couple months prior to their daughter Ruth, and as promised, Killian was at his side. However, he’d had to have a C-section, which slowed his recovery a bit compared to Killian’s. “And it must be done at the upcoming winter solstice, or we’ll have to wait another few years.”

Killian was about to suggest that until Tink jumped in. “Plus, you kind of still owe us for the whole hat thing.”

“That was the Dark One and you know it,” Emma snapped back, but they both knew Killian still harbored a fair amount of guilt over that. It was a low blow on their part, but not undeserved.

She most likely saw the acceptance in his eyes when they exchanged a glance, but he also saw she wasn’t quite there. “Does it really have to be a guy?” she enquired, turning back to the fairies. “I mean, there are lots of women here who meet your criteria, too.”

“It does,” they said simultaneously, though Tink at least looked somewhat apologetic.

Emma was ready to protest again, but he put his hand over hers on the table and told her with a look that it was okay. She reclined in her seat while he turned back to the pair. “I’ll agree, but with one condition: you’ll have to help pick up my slack��around town and at home,” he said evenly. He was sure he’d get to a point when it wasn’t feasible for him to continue as deputy, or at the library, or even keep up with Hope, who was dangerously close to walking.

“Actually, one more,” Emma added. “He’s not on the hook for any, like, actual fatherhood, right? You won’t be coming after him for child support or anything?”

“No, he's simply the surrogate,” Blue confirmed.

“And we’ll definitely help out—whatever you need,” Tink added.

Emma gave him a tentative but supportive look. “Then I’ll do it,” he told them.

“Excellent,” Blue stated with less enthusiasm than he expected. “We’ll send you more information soon, but the most important thing is to be at the convent next Saturday. Green,” she then turned to Tink, “come; we have much to do to prepare.” (Which was a polite way of asking her to slide out of the booth first.)

Tink rolled her eyes and stood up. “I’ll text you,” she said, and the two flitted out of the diner.

Killian and Emma were silent for a long moment after they left, other than making sure some oatmeal actually ended up in Hope’s mouth.

Emma started to clean up the baby and then said, “I know it’s too late now, but are you sure about this?”

“Not entirely,” he confessed, “but they were right—I do owe them.”

“You don’t,” Emma said matter-of-factly, “even though I know you think you do.” She wiped the mess off Hope’s face. “But if this will finally relieve some of that guilt, then I get it, and I’ll support you.”

“Thank you, love,” he sighed, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m going to need it, I think.”

“Oh, you are,” she said wryly. “And you should probably start planning how you’ll tell my dad.”

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, then dragged a hand down his face. “He’s going to be relentless.” What had been playful ribbing during their respective pregnancies was likely about to be amplified.

“Maybe you can talk to Belle? See if she knows anything on what to expect? Pun not intended.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he agreed, then followed Emma as she slipped out of the booth. He pulled Hope from the high chair and settled her in his left arm, then grabbed her diaper bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Guess we’ll pick her brain now. See you later.” They kissed farewell and headed off to their respective jobs that day—Emma at the station, Killian at the library, where he’d taken something of an assistant librarian position (and could keep an eye on Hope and her “cousin” Gideon in between reshelving and assisting patrons).

Belle was surprised when he told him about the morning’s turn of events, but then got an almost academic excitement. “I can’t say I know much about their physiology, and I didn’t know this about their reproduction, but let’s see if we have anything.”

She dove into research while he took care of normal library functions, but by midday, didn’t have much to show for it.

“They’re so secretive! Obviously their existence is documented, and there’s mention of someone other than Blue being in charge at some point in the past, and that their young mature faster than average, but that’s it. What did they tell you?”

“Not much,” he answered, relaying what little he’d been told. “But they did call it a ‘brood’, so it sounds like multiples are common. Just not quite so many.”

“Do you think they’d let me take notes?” she wondered. “It’s not like there's any research journals on magical beings I could submit a paper to, but more for my own study.”

“If they don’t let you, I won’t do it,” he commented. “Do you still have everything from last time?” She’d done quite a bit of documentation on his first pregnancy, considering it was the product of a misunderstood spell.

“Of course; David’s, too.” Then she laughed. “Of all the things I imagined becoming an expert in, magical male pregnancy was not one of them.”

“Someone had to,” he countered.

“That’s true!”

---------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the week was fairly uneventful, save for a text from Tink telling them when to arrive at the convent, and to make sure he ate lots of greens and wore something comfortable (which he took to mean stretchy). And they assented to Belle’s presence, too, which didn’t change anything but did make him feel more at ease.

David was something between amused and horrified about what Killian had agreed to, but ultimately glad they hadn’t asked him.

The afternoon of the solstice, before they headed to the convent, Belle took some notes and measurements of Killian as a baseline for her study—and honestly, he was kind of glad, if the proportions on this were going to be as overlarge as he expected. “How big do they make those maternity pants?” he asked Emma as Belle was making note of his waist size (not significantly larger than it used to be, he was at least proud to say).

Emma’s eyes grew large. “I don’t know; I think the fairies are gonna have to help with that one.”

“Let’s hope that’s a ways off, then,” he settled.

They dropped Hope off at Snow and David’s on their way to the convent, where they were greeted by Blue herself. She ushered them in without a word, and a couple other fairies were there to gather their belongings, before Blue guided them further into the building. Killian was both surprised and not to see that they were all in their traditional attire, though he was a bit shocked that they were all still large and not the miniscule size they were known for. Belle had had a similar question a few days ago; they’d ask at some point.

They were led into a large, candlelit room, where Tink suddenly appeared in front of him. “Drink this,” she commanded, holding a mug of steaming liquid, “and take off your shirt.”

“Is that necessary?” he asked as he took the mug.

“I mean, I already know what’s under there, so I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t,” she countered with a wink.

He complied with a sigh. The drink was a potion of some sort, he gathered almost immediately; a warm, tingly feeling took over his body as he drank it, eventually settling in his stomach, which made sense. Weirdly, though, when he removed his tshirt, there was a slight glow under the skin of his abdomen. (Belle was off to the side, furiously taking notes; Emma was next to her, trying to keep a straight face and surreptitiously taking pictures.)

Blue was watching a clock, and when it struck a seemingly random time—the peak of the solstice—she began chanting in a tongue he didn’t quite recognize, with others gradually joining in and forming a circle around him. The glow under his skin got brighter, especially in his midsection, although he didn’t feel any different—yet.

“Human,” Blue finally addressed him. “You have agreed to be the vessel for our young. Do you promise to protect them with your life, and care for them until they are ready to join our world?”

“I...yes,” he answered, as confidently as he could manage. “I will.”

Blue continued briefly in the foreign tongue, as did the others. “Now, let the gravidation commence.”

One of the fairies approached him with her hands cupped as the rest continued to chant; she was dressed all in pink, and he thought he’d seen her spending time with Grumpy on occasion. As she got closer, he saw a small ball of pink light pulsing her palm that she was murmuring to, until she was close enough to touch him.

And she did, guiding the ball of light toward his navel and then—it disappeared inside him as she pressed her hands against his stomach. He felt a small twinge inside as it settled within, but no pain—just a spark. The glow from his midsection briefly took on a pinkish hue, but then returned to the white color it had been emanating.

Each of the nine fairies did the same thing, one by one. He did wonder how it was decided who would be reproducing, given that there were far more than nine fairies present, but that was another question for a later date. They appeared before him in all colors of the spectrum—purple, seafoam, navy, yellow, fuschia—and then Tiger Lily’s deep orange joined the array of hues, followed by Tink’s bright green.

Blue was the last to approach, and her orb seemed to be the biggest of them all, which he supposed was no surprise. However, her hands lingered on his abdomen and she continued to chant, the intensity and volume increasing as everyone’s voices joined in.

He suddenly felt a slight cramp within—still nothing painful, but like his insides were being gently rearranged, which they probably were. Then his stomach glowed brighter, casting all the colors of the fairies whose offspring he was now carrying around the room.

“Gods above, watch over this man; let he be exalted among the fairies, and let no harm befall him nor our bairns,” Blue called out with a sense of finality.

The glow grew brighter, until it was too bright for him to look at, but then was gone in a flash. The fairies gave a collective hum that seemed to resolve the ceremony, and then began to file out of the room, although Tink approached and wrapped him in a soft robe.

He felt...he wasn’t sure. Content, at the very least, but also like he might float away were it not for the sensation of a weight within him holding him down. His hand drifted to his midsection, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was ever so slightly rounder than it was before he arrived; with nine babies in there, he supposed that made sense. He couldn’t feel any sensations of kicking yet, but it was probably too early—and honestly, he still kind of tingled all over. The analytical side of him wondered where they would be considered in their development relative to a human fetus—and if they’d even show up on an ultrasound.

“How are you doing, Captain?” Blue was still in front of him, but in the afterglow (literally) of the spell, he’d lost sense of anything else around him.

“I’m good,” he answered. “Possibly too good.”

Blue gave a small, knowing smile. “That tends to happen. Come, let’s sit; you must have more questions.” She gestured toward the door the fairies had exited out of and then moved toward it herself, expecting him to follow.

Emma was suddenly at his side, and Belle not far behind. “You okay?” she asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“I seem to be,” he replied. “Have I ever told you how bloody beautiful you are?”

She grinned, amused. “Many times. What was in that cup?”

“Potion of some sort,” he shrugged as she started pushing him in the direction of the door. “Why?”

“Seemed like some really potent potables,” she quipped. Yeah, he did feel a little drunk.

He somehow ended up on a very plush couch, with Emma on one side and Belle on the other, sitting across from Blue, Tink, and Tiger Lily. Someone gave him a glass of water, and there was food on a coffee table, but he wasn’t much hungry.

Honestly, he was mostly fascinated with the stained glass windows in the room, and with inspecting whatever was going on in his stomach, until he did hear Belle ask a pertinent question:

“So why men?”

“Well, we’re all women,” Blue answered. “It does take two.”

“But I thought you said he was just a surrogate,” Emma countered. “Are these actually his babies? Because we didn’t agree to that.”

“No, they’re not; I suppose in modern terms, you’d say that we reproduce asexually. But nature still seems to demand the involvement of a man and a woman. So that’s why a willing male carries the brood.”

“Are there always so many?” Belle asked.

“No; usually only 4 or 5. But no one was available at the last solstice.”

Killian didn’t really pay attention to the next several questions regarding fairy reproduction—he’d read Belle’s notes later when he was a bit more focused—but he did eventually get to interject one of his own: “Why are you big right now, though? And why aren’t the babies going to be tiny?”

The fairies chuckled—he supposed his statement wasn’t as coherent as it sounded in his head—but still replied. “Shrinking is an acquired skill,” Tink said. “That’s why we weren’t small when we didn’t have our powers,” she explained, nodding at Tiger Lily.

“But once we learn, it’s our preferred size,” Blue added. “It’s easier to do our job then.”

That made sense.

“So, what else can he expect,” Emma asked. “I know you said it’d be different, but how much?”

“Well, the size, obviously—and you will still gain weight to support that,” Blue explained. “Increased appetite is to be expected, but no cravings or anything like that.”

“Your hormones will be altered, similar to a normal pregnancy,” Tiger Lily added. “But that just helps the body prepare for birth.”

“Bloody hell, what will that be like?” he wondered aloud.

“Nowhere near as difficult,” Blue laughed.

“Wait—if my hormones are affected…” He trailed off, remembering how much those threw him for a loop last time—particularly, certain desires. “I can still have sex, right?”

Emma covered her face with her hands at his blunt question, but it was important.

“Of course,” Blue said plainly. “Do whatever you need to—within reason, of course.”

“Although, don’t forget—you’ll be at least twice as big as last time,” Tink reminded. “At least. That might make it harder.”

More difficult, maybe, but it hadn’t altered either person’s desires the last time around. He turned to give Emma (what he thought was) a salacious look, but she just burst into giggles.

“Just—listen to your body,” Blue finally said. “For everything: rest, food, activity. The spell you drank will last the whole pregnancy and keep things going. We trust you, though.”

“I’ll guard them with my life,” he said, suddenly emotional, covering his stomach with his hand.

“Aaaand there’s the hormones,” Emma commented. “Come on; let’s get you home.”

He was suddenly very sleepy. “Aye; that’s a good idea.”

“Yes, he’s going to be tired the next couple of days,” Blue added. “But otherwise—see you in 40 weeks.”

Emma wrapped her arm around him, said goodbye, and poofed them straight back to their bedroom. He was nearly asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but had one last thing to ask Emma.

“You’ll still find me sexy when I’ve got a big, huge belly, right?”

She kissed his forehead. “Incredibly so. Sleep tight.”

------------------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook (let me know if you want a tag!)

#cs ff #killian mpreg #fairy godfather #my ff

42 notes · View notes

seriouslyhooked · 4 years ago

Text

Lighthouse (CS AU)

Short oneshot where Emma is the Princess and Killian is her longtime love. He’s serving his last deployment in the royal navy and she is eagerly awaiting his arrival. Available on AO3 Here and FF Here.

A/N: This is a fluffy drabble that was prompted FOREVER ago by a lovely reader. They wanted the song “Lighthouse’ by Collabro and the story to include a Lieutenant Duckling Reunion fic. It has been so long since I’ve gotten to write something like that, and I have really missed it, so here is my attempt at some cuteness for you all. Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to the awesome reader who suggested this!

Please let him be safe. Please let him come home. Please let him return to me.

The silent prayers were ones that Princess Emma had begged for more times than she could count. Over the past year, while Killian was out at sea, serving in the royal navy, Emma had been beside herself with worry. It was bad enough to be separated from the man she loved, but to know that he could be in danger all this time pained her heart in shades of sadness she’d never be able to vocalize.

If she had her way in this scenario, Emma would be down at the docks, watching the horizon for any sign of his ship in port. No, forget that idea, she’d be on the ship with him, facing whatever harrowing adventures the high seas might call for without a drop of fear. When she was with Killian, nothing could touch her. The magic they shared was a barrier against anything bad, a fortifying force that protected them both, and Emma felt steadier and at peace. But alas, her destiny was written already, and it held no space for seafaring voyages or long treks on the open ocean.

As the one-day heir of the realm, Emma was expected to put on a brave face and attend to her duties. The people looked to her and her family for leadership and guidance. They all played a part in the health of this kingdom, and her birthright was to inherit all of this someday. At some point in the not too distant future, when her mother and father were ready to step aside, it would be Emma who took the throne, but all the grandeur and the power meant nothing to her, not without Killian to share it with.

Every spare moment she thought of him, and imagined what it would be like someday, when this was all behind them. This was his last deployment under the careful watch of his elder brother Liam, and prior to his going, he’d already received her parent’s blessing to marry her, though not before asking Emma for her hand herself. She’d accepted in a heartbeat, failing to let him even finish the romantic question when she understood his intent. She was desperate to be his in every way, and remembering the smile he’d bestowed on her and the kisses that they shared when she’d agreed, it was obvious that Killian felt the same.

Almost a whole year had passed since that miraculous night, and not long after he was sent away, sailing for the edge of the known world to see what lay beyond. It terrified her to think of what danger may lurk in what was unknown, but Killian reassured her that it would all be fine. He and Liam knew what must be done. They understood the sea and their mission, and Killian swore to find his way back to her just as he had so many times before…

“I just wish that you didn’t have to go,” she’d said, unable to hide her tears in the early morning hours before his ship set sail. They’d run off together to the guest house in the garden, a special spot of theirs since they met when they were younger. For years it had been their hideaway. Killian called it their sanctuary, and Emma always thought that was an apt description.

“Believe me, love, if there were any way around this, I would see the course. You know I’d give anything to be here making you mine as soon as may be. But my brother needs me, and your father has been clear. We need these alliances for the good of the kingdom, and the safety of the people, you most importantly.”

“I know,” Emma agreed, understanding more than most how precious their alliances were with the kingdoms of all realms. This voyage, though long and arduous, would protect them for years to come, and was the last request of Killian’s brother Liam before Killian exited the navy. “You just…”

“I just what, love?” he asked, cupping the side of her cheek and watching her with those beautiful blue eyes of his that always made her dizzy. They were so focused in on her, as if the universe began and ended with what she was about to say. In a world where she was important but never felt truly seen, she’d grown addicted to such attentions. Killian truly knew her and still loved her, and she was more herself with him than with anyone she’d ever met. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him and savoring the warmth and electricity that came when he was close.

“You just made me love you so much, that letting you go feels like losing part of myself.”

The murmured curse he let loose before devouring her lips made Emma shiver with delight, but she was hardly cold. His touch was like a fire, sizzling through her and marking her as his, just as much as she was marking him as hers. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but it felt mere seconds later when they pulled apart. The brightness of the room and the daylight that was breaking signaled much more time had passed than seconds, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of time together ever would be.

“There’s nothing in this world or any other capable of keeping me from you, Emma. My love for you is constant. Not just for this life, but every one from here to always. Have faith in me, my love, because I promise I will be home to you as soon as I am able.”

Though the words were whispered so long ago, Emma still felt them wash against her skin as the sun began to sink over the tree line. Out here, in the back woods of the palace, she was totally alone, but if she couldn’t be with Killian, that solitude was all she could accept. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to fantasize that he was here. Autumn’s chill was back once more. The year was up, and so too should his mission be. In a perfect world she’d hear the gentle crunch of footsteps and catch the subtle scent of ocean waves. The footsteps would approach with precision and determination until the moment just before he reached her where heat flared through her system. She fended off tears at how good her imagination was becoming, and then she felt him, the undeniable press of his body on hers that was so much more vivid than any daydream ever could be. Her eyes popped open and her heart took flight.

“Emma,” he said, nuzzling into her neck as he held her tight and the sound that came from her chest was one of desperation and relief. “Gods how I’ve missed you, love.”

“You came back,” she said, spinning in his hold and seeing that this was truly real. Killian was here and alive. He was somehow even more gorgeous than when he’d left, and he was looking at her with even more affection and love than he’d had before. Tall dark and handsome did no justice to all he was. He was perfection, and he was all hers.

“With a light like yours to return to, there was no other option, love. Trust and believe in that.”

He whispered the words of affirmation as her hand came over his chest. She felt the racing of his heart, and she knew, without his admitting it all that things had been the same for her him as they had for her. She may have been here, and he may have physically been worlds away, but her heart could not reside in a space without him. Now they were together again, and she was whole, happy, and unwilling to ever let him go.

Pulling him in by the collar of his navy coat, Emma almost wept when their lips met after so long a separation. His taste was just the same, his arms, holding her close, the warmest and most soothing home she’d ever known. She was safe here and hopeful, finally believing that the worst was behind them. From here on out things would be different. She and Killian would be together, and there’d never be cause for such sad partings ever again.

“I thought for certain that the love we shared before was as big as it could be…” he murmured, running his hands through her flowing hair and smiling at her, as if he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t all a beautiful dream they’d both soon wake up from. “How wrong I was in such a thought. This love grows deeper every day. It can’t be quantified. It just…”

“It just is,” Emma echoed, and he agreed, kissing her again and grounding her in a happiness that had been missing for twelve long months. Only when they were breathless, did they break apart, but even then his forehead rested against hers, his arms surrounding her, giving them space to breathe each other in and surrender to their feelings.

“I’ve brought you something, Emma,” he finally said, and she could see the pride in his eyes at the mention of this gift. “It’s something I hope you’ll find worthy of a woman like you.”

Emma knew she’d cherish any parcel from her sailor, but the preemptive affirmations died on her lips as he pulled out a small velvet pouch. Inside the compartment was a ring with a band of white gold, and a green blue gem unlike any she’d ever seen. In the royal vaults there were many treasures belonging to her family, but none that looked like this. It was a sapphire, but colored in such a vibrant aqua hue it didn’t look like any stone she’d seen before. Yet it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this iridescent shade. In fact, it was one that always seemed to find the two of them some way or another.

“Killian, it’s gorgeous,” she said in awe, amazed at how much it looked like the lightest flecks of color in his piercing blue gaze. She knew that in her own green eyes there were flecks of this tone too, a shared sample of their souls, indistinguishable and utterly spectacular. “But you didn’t need to bring me anything. All I need is you, you know that.”

“I do, love. Believe me, a man doesn’t forget such miracles when he’s as blessed as I am. But you are to be my wife, and after searching for some time, I finally found the ring I know was meant for you.”

With gentle ease, he took her hand in his and placed the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, and matched the modest white gold of the band he’d given her in promise before he left. Emma knew he’d had the choice of any ring in the castle for his proposal, but he was determined to find something special just for her. She didn’t need anything more than the wedding that would come, but when he shared the origin of this particular gem, she felt its significance.

“I found this treasure at a time of great pain. I missed you so dearly, that even the sea could offer no distraction. Twelve weeks into a twelve-month journey and I was homesick, as I’ve never been before. I walked along the beach in port and found this in a tide pool, underneath a rising moon. Liam gave most of the crew some leave for the first time in ages, but there was nothing that I wanted when I knew you were waiting for me here.

“My brother insisted I get off the boat, despite my attempt at protest, and so I wandered for a while, thinking only of you. Of your beauty and your brilliance and the future you deserve, the one I will do anything to give you. The waves in that water are notoriously unruly and sporadic. They rage along the coast and filter into tide pools unlike our shores here, but the locals claim that the sea bring treasures and tricks alike from far off places. Needless to say I didn’t care about these stories. All I cared about was you. I was thinking that maybe I should come home, even though the mission was not over, and then I found this, glistening in the water just below.”

Emma looked down at the stone and their hands intertwined. She imagined each point of his memory, feeling it so surely, it was like she had been there too. It helped in easing the pain of separation, and she settled in the fact that soon their being parted would be just a distant remembrance, never to be repeated.

“The first time I held you in my arms for a dance, you were dressed in a gown of this shade. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.”

“Neither will I,” Emma agreed, recalling her public debut. She was a girl of sixteen and Killian was the brother of one of her father’s most trusted Captains, a whole year older than her but already in her eyes so much more mature. Now, so much time had passed, but when he smiled at her the same boyish charm was ever present, and she fell under his spell, stepping into his arms as she would to share a dance. Out there, in the setting sun he held her close, guiding her though there was no music, and she tried not to cry the joyful tears that threatened to spill as he twirled her, eliciting a laugh and making her feel lighter than air.

“Finding this felt like a sign, that even we were parted, we would always be together. I carried it every moment since, knowing someday it would end up here, with you.”

“And now it’s here, and so are you,” she whispered, stealing another kiss from him and halting their dance. He was the sweetest man alive, of that she had no doubt, but suddenly that sweetness was not what she needed. What she needed was love, the love that only they shared, made real in a stolen, private moment.

Reading her mind and her wants with precision, Killian pivoted from dancing to sweeping her up into his arms. She laughed aloud at the motion but didn’t pull back far. Instead she clung to him as he strolled through the back way. A few minutes later, when they arrived back at the garden house she was in no way surprised. She hadn’t been out here since his leaving, but it was just as she remembered, and immediately her sense of inner peace solidified. This was everything she’d wanted and more.

The kiss he pressed on her once they were shut away inside was filled with heat and desire, and soon kisses devolved into so much more, a merging of two people who had missed each other fiercely and we were intent on tying themselves together once again. It was perfect, hard-fought reunion, and Emma would cherish the memory always. But perhaps no part was as special as the glow that came between them when she was wrapped up in his arms hours later, safe and happy as the dawn of a new morning began to break. The world was not bright enough to have created such vibrancy, that was all thanks to them and their true love. As a product of two soul mates, Emma had inherited a bit of magic herself, but that magic was always the strongest in the arms of her Killian.

“Gods above, Emma, you are my light, my truth, my home,” he murmured, his words placed between the lightest kisses that sent thrills of pleasure dancing across her skin. “I’ll love you forever, I give you my word.”

“Good,” she replied, silently affirming that she felt the same with a gentle kiss before finally giving in to the tiredness of her body. And luckily for both of them, the sweet dreams that came of their reunion were nothing compared to the joy of their life together. For they had found something better than wishes – a love so real it would live forever, and a bond so sure it would always lead them home.

………………

Where ever I am Where ever I go Whatever happens, this year I know That you'll be with me to the end When the cold sets in Like you told me all those years ago You hold my hand Where ever I lay And you guide me through come what may Bring the silence through the noise I still hear your voice I remember what I heard you say I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Whenever I feel I'm all by myself And every word is a cry for help I just think of you and then I'm safe again I feel you close though you're somewhere else I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Do you remember What we used to say? I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home

Post-Note: Wow, so first and foremost, if the person who requested this even still reads my fics (because it has literally been something like 4 years since they asked for this), I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. I am so sorry for making you wait so long, but I am also so grateful for your lovely prompt. What happiness this fic created for me as I wrote it. I hope you all get to share in that too as you read the story. I’m also shocked at how close I am getting to 200 chapters of the mixtape. I can’t tell if it is something that I should put on hold, or make a volume two perhaps, but in the meantime, thanks so much to all of you for reading, for commenting, and sending me amazing songs to include. It has meant the world to have your support, and I hope you’ll continue to join me on this slow but steady journey in cute CS oneshots!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan au #cs fic #cs fluff #cs cuteness #cs ff #cs au #cs one shot #lieutenant duckling #sailor killian #princess emma #prompted fic #cs mixtape #captain swan mixtape #Mixtape #lighthouse

44 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

based on the prompt: “when I was five, I was hunting shark teeth on Miami Beach and just kept finding tooth after tooth with my little plastic sleuce. I was so proud of my collection. Only 20 years later did I find out that my mom’s boyfriend had bought a bag of shark teeth at the gift shop and scattered them around while I was distracted.”

@shireness-says is the queen of finding posts and then having me write words based off of them, even more so if I can somehow make those words involve some captain cobra and then, of course, my favorite thing: all of the banter and romance ❤️

This little thing is also fully my way to give a little bit of happiness since I know 70% of you are mad at me for the last few chapters of What a Wicked Game . it gets better very soon.

found on ao3 | here | ; rating: for everyone ; ~4400 words

-/-

Emma’s forgetting something.

She knows that she is. She’s practically always forgetting something, and since she’s making the effort to drive across town to the beach with Henry, she just knows that there’s something that she’s going to forget. Then she’ll have to go into one of those tourist shops and spend fifty bucks on the smallest bottle of sunscreen known to mankind all because she forgot the sunscreen.

Did she pack the sunscreen?

She had to have done that. That was in the top five things she needed to pack.

Towels, extra clothes, food, water, sunscreen.

And then beach toys, medicine, a comb, band-aids for when Henry inevitably figures out a way to get a cut…oh, an umbrella. She needs an umbrella.

Wait, Killian was in charge of getting that, wasn’t he?

Shit. She doesn’t remember what exactly she told Killian to bring, and she definitely should have paid more attention to that.

She has to be more put together than this, doesn’t she? She usually is, she swears, but this whole Henry spending the day with Killian is freaking her out more than it should. They’ve met, several times actually, and it’s always gone well. Henry’s six. He doesn’t really get the whole concept of his mom dating someone because he’s never really seen it before. There was almost that time with Walsh, but Emma chickened out at the last minute. Then Walsh got pissed that she wouldn’t let him meet her kid, like she owed him something, and that was the end of that.

But they’ve met. It went well.

Why is she freaking out?

“Because you really like him, you idiot,” she whispers to herself, which kind of makes her even more of an idiot.

That’s all just par for the course right now.

“Who are you talking to?” Henry asks as he walks into the kitchen. The kid is wearing a pair of jeans, no shirt, one sock, and a hat that she knows isn’t hers and is far too big for his head.

“No one,” Emma tells him. “What are you wearing, kid?”

“You told me to get dressed for the beach.”

“Why do you think jeans are what you’re supposed to wear to the beach? Is that what you wear to the pool?”

“No, but the beach has sand.”

“So you have to wear jeans?”

“Yep.” He climbs up onto the kitchen stool and sits down, wide, toothy grin on his face. “So, can we go? I packed all of my toys.”

What an adorable kid. How did she get so lucky for him to be hers?

…wait. All of his toys?

“Henry Swan,” Emma sighs, “go to your room and put every toy that is not allowed in the shower back, and take those jeans off and put on your swimsuit with the anchors on it. Also, ditch the socks.”

“Do I have to?”

“Unless you want to smell like a wet dog, yes.”

“I like dogs.”

Emma huffs and shakes her before pointing her finger down the hall. “Go. We’ve still got to make our sandwiches.”

Henry grumbles something that she probably doesn’t want to hear, but then he’s climbing down off the stool and walking down the hallway. She has no faith in him to actually manage to put on the right clothes and not bring everything he owns, but she’ll let that be the last thing she does so that way he doesn’t manage to change everything up before they leave.

There’s a knock on the apartment door, and Emma glances toward it, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

This is not a big deal, she reminds herself. This is not a big deal at all.

Swallowing her nerves, she puts down the knife she was going to use to cut bread up and heads toward the door. Emma takes a deep breath, her stomach fluttering, but that’s not unfamiliar as of late. It’s aching familiar, actually, and she’s not sure if she loves it or hates it.

Hates it because she’s not that kind of girl.

Loves it because maybe she wants to be.

“Hey,” she says in greeting as she opens the door to Killian.

He, unlike Henry, was able to dress himself in a pair of black trunks that are maybe a little too tight on his thighs for public and a gray t-shirt, baseball cap that actually fits his head pulled down low so that she can’t see the wisps of long hair that usually fall on his forehead. When they met, he had short hair that was nearly cropped to his scalp, but now that he’s retired from the Navy, he’s letting it grow out. She likes it. It falls off his forehead and over the nape of his neck in a slight wave, but she does kind of miss when it was short but long enough for him to style with gel. It’d all come undone when she’d run her hands through it, and she has this vivid memory of one piece falling on his forehead and making him look so young that she could scarcely believe it.

“Hello, love,” he greets before dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers. It’s dirty but surprisingly quick, and she knows that’s just because he’s aware that Henry is around. When she meets him at his place, he kisses her differently, and really, she shouldn’t be noticing these things and categorizing them into her little boxes. “Am I allowed to say that I am very interested in what you have underneath this shirt of yours or are there young ears listening?”

Emma rolls her eyes and presses up on her toes to kiss him again, much slower this time so she can savor the hint of coffee on his lips. “He’s getting dressed again.”

“Again?”

“He was wearing jeans, no shirt, and a hat that I think must be yours.”

“Was it a Pirates cap?”

“It was.”

“Damn, I knew I’d left that somewhere.”

Emma chuckles and backs away from him, trailing her hand down his arm. “You’re not even from Pittsburg. Why are you a Pirates fan?”

“Because my best mate was when we were kids, and it stuck.”

“And your loyalties are too deep now?”

“Absolutely.” Killian closes the door behind him and saunters – and she’s not exaggerating when she uses that word – over to her small kitchen and picks up the knife she was using. “Do you need help making lunch?”

“No, I can do it.”

“Turkey, lettuce, cheese for the boy,” Killian hums as he starts placing slices of turkey on a piece of bread, “and no crust, aye? You want the same thing but with tomatoes, and do you want any condiments? I don’t think they’ll travel well. Maybe we can bring them separately.”

“Killian, seriously. I can make us lunch.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” He waves her away with a flash of his teeth. “Go see if Henry needs help getting dressed. I feel like he should be finished by now.”

“I’m sure he’s destroying his room.”

Killian winks. “That’s why you need to go and check, Swan.”

Henry isn’t destroying his room, surprisingly. He’s dressed in exactly what he’s supposed to be dressed in, and he’s sitting on the floor surrounded by all of his toys that he must have emptied out of his bag. Emma walks into his room and settles down beside him. “What are we thinking about, kid?”

“If I want to find buried treasure, I need one of those coin things.”

“Coin things?”

“Yeah, those things that Mrs. Klein uses to look for coins and it makes all that noise like when you set food on fire.”

Emma laughs and pushes her shoulder into Henry. “A metal detector?”

“Yeah!” he says excitedly, “but all I have are my shovels, and how am I supposed to find shark teeth with those?”

“Wait. I thought we were looking for buried treasure. When did we switch to shark teeth?”

“Avery found a shark tooth, and I want one.”

She sighs and nods before leaning forward and grabbing Henry’s plastic shovels and sandcastle molds and putting them in his bag. “You know, Killian used to look for hidden things with his job.” It’s only a half truth, but Henry doesn’t need to know the intricacies. “I bet he’d be really good at looking for buried treasure and shark teeth with you.”

“Why can’t you help?”

“Oh, I can, kid. I just thought maybe you’d like Killian to help you.”

He shrugs and then wraps his arms around Emma’s middle, squeezing her so tightly she’s not sure if her ribs are still in place. “I want you.”

“Of course,” she whispers, brushing her hand over Henry’s back before kissing his forehead. She doesn’t know what just came over him, but she doesn’t like it. She also has no idea how she’s supposed to be approaching this. “Henry, do you not want Killian to come with us today?”

He shakes his head into her stomach. “I don’t like it when you kiss him.”

Emma has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be.

Shit could still hit the fan, but that’s one crisis averted.

“If I promise not to let him kiss me, can he come with us to the beach?”

“You promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

Emma nudges Henry off of her and holds out his pinky. He wraps his own smaller one around it, and she has a vivid flashback of his tiny hand grabbing onto her pinky right after he was born. It’s a reflex. She’s fully aware of that, but it’s also what made her decide to keep him instead of put him up for adoption.

Pinky promises are a big deal.

“Pinky promise I won’t kiss Killian.” He smiles, and Emma takes the opportunity to lean forward and press her lips against Henry’s cheek once, twice, three times. She keeps kissing him as he giggles and squirms and falls back. “But I never promised not to kiss you.”

“M-mom,” he laughs, “s-stop.”

“Nope, not gonna stop.”

“You have cooties.”

“No such thing, kid,” she mumbles before finally pulling back. Henry’s cheeks are flushed red, and she lets out a contented sigh. He’s happy and healthy. That’s all that matters. “Now, come on, the beach is waiting for us.”

-/-

Emma can’t find the sunscreen.

Like, she legitimately cannot find it, and she knows that she packed it. She freaking triple-checked, had Killian check, and it’s nowhere to be found in her bag or in the bug. Now she has to spend a ridiculous amount of money on a brand she probably won’t even like.

“I’ll go, love,” Killian tells her when he finishes setting up the big umbrella they’ve got stationed in the sand. “You stay with the lad and help him build the sand fortress he’s already started on. Do we need anything else?”

“I’ll text you if I think of anything.”

He salutes and then leans down, and Emma has to swerve away at the last minute as Henry gives them some kind of side-eye that she knows he got from her.

“Something the matter, Swan?”

She tilts her head to the side and then gets up off her towel, grabbing Killian’s hand and tugging him a few feet away from Henry. He looks highly amused, eyebrows raised to his hairline, and she just knows he’s going to love this.

“You can’t kiss me today.”

His eyebrows somehow go higher. “What now?”

“Henry is upset about us kissing, and I pinky promised that we wouldn’t.”

She hears a small laugh, and he’s trying to keep a straight face. She can tell. But the corners of his lips are poking up, and she knows he can’t resist it.

“A pinky promise, huh?”

“It’s the most serious of promises.”

Killian reaches his hand forward, holding out his pinky. She takes it and wonders how every part of him is so impossibly warm. “I pinky promise that you will not kiss me today.”

“Killian.”

“What?”

“I see your loophole, and that is not going to fly.”

“I won’t kiss you, darling,” he whispers, leaning in so close that she thinks he just might be cocky enough to do it. “That’s a pinky promise.”

And then he’s pulling away and walking up toward the overpriced beach shack that must make a killing here every day for the amount of people that are always flocking to the beach. At least it’s kind of quiet today, but it’s still early enough that most people won’t be here for a few hours.

“Alright, kid,” Emma sighs, “let’s build a sandcastle.”

-/-

Emma has a thing about being in the ocean.

She knows how to swim. There was a foster parent who was a swimming coach at the local high school, and she made sure all of the kids knew how. The thing is that she also let them all watch Jaws, and while logically Emma knows the likelihood of her getting eaten by a shark is low, she’s not really fond of going into any kind of water that isn’t extremely clear.

The beaches of Storybrooke are not so clear that she can see the ground, so she’s definitely staying just at the edge where the waves crest and wash over her feet. Killian and Henry, however, are chest deep, and Emma’s not nervous watching them.

Nope.

Not at all.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, “you chase bad guys for a living. The ocean isn’t going to bring you down.”

“The bad guys stay above water.”

“Mom,” Henry whines, “come on!”

“Nope. You have to stay out there with Killian. I’m not coming in.”

Henry flops back into the water, and she just knows he’s groaning. Why is he so dramatic?

But then he’s coming back up to the surface, and she sees Killian’s lips move before he holds his hand up to cover his mouth so she can’t see what he’s saying. Henry nods along, a smile carving itself a place, and Emma leans back into the sand and sighs. That’s good. They’re getting along, and she can worry about that a little, tiny bit less.

She really, desperately wants Henry to like Killian.

Because she really, desperately likes Killian, and it’s been a long time since she felt like she could have something besides Henry be good.

Emma draws her hand through the damp sand, picking up small broken pieces of shells, and when she looks up, she sees both Henry and Killian swimming to the shore. They’re in a public place and she’s around her kid, so she tries not to be distracted by the sight of Killian coming up out of the water. She’s only a woman though, and there’s only so much she can do.

“Hey, love,” Killian says as he stands above her, holding his hand out, “can I talk to you for a second?”

“I’m listening.”

He cocks his head. “In private.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I have to share a secret.”

“Okay,” Emma laughs, taking his hand and letting him pull her up. He drags her a few feet over as Henry stands right in her eye-line, and she’s not sure which of them she’s supposed to keep her eye on. “What kind of secret do you have?”

Killian’s brows waggle in that way they do, and he dips his head down before wrapping his other arm around Emma’s back and tugging her closer so that the front of her suit gets wet.

“I need you to distract Henry.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he mentioned wanting to find shark teeth, and I found a bag of them at the shack. I need to scatter them around while he’s not looking.”

A lump collects in Emma’s throat, and she tries to swallow it down. She really does, but she can’t quite get it to go away. She needs air, though, and for the stinging of tears behind her eyes to go away because she’s not going to cry. She doesn’t cry. Nope. Not at all.

(She is a liar. She cries all of the time.)

But she doesn’t want to cry about this because that would be ridiculous.

“You bought him shark teeth?”

“What? Is that not okay? I figured it’d be fun for him and I – ”

“If I hadn’t made a pinky promise, I would kiss you right now.”

Killian chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and he leans that much closer in. “Later. I have other plans for you right now.”

“Really?”

Emma quickly glances over at Henry, and he’s biting his bottom lip, obviously trying to hide a smile. He gets that from her. And that’s when she gets what’s happening. That’s also when she feels her feet lift off the ground so that she’s half hanging over Killian’s shoulder.

“Jones,” she warns as he turns and slowly starts walking toward the ocean, “I can do horrible things to you.”

“That sounds like a promise and not a threat.”

“I’m serious,” she says, her heart rate ticking up as the water keeps getting deeper. It’s to Killian’s knees now, and she can feel it ghost over the bottom of her feet.

“You and I both know that if you wanted down, you could get down.”

“You’ve got a pretty tight grip.”

“And if I didn’t want to scar your boy for life, that grip would be on your ass.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Most definitely, but this was also Henry’s idea.”

“What?” Emma laughs, suddenly not so irritated with Killian. “It was not.”

“Oh, no, it most definitely was.” Killian shifts her around until her legs are wrapping around his waist and her shoulders are hanging onto his neck. She can feel the way he breathes, the steadiness of it, and for a moment she’s distracted by that and the way the background of the ocean brings out the blue in his eyes. “Look at him and see.”

Sure enough, when she twists around to look back at the beach, Henry is standing there bouncing on his toes, watching them with rapt, excited attention.

“That little mastermind.”

“He’s certainly something else.” Killian’s hands adjust underneath her, this time landing on her ass, but she knows he’ll claim it’s only for support. She definitely doesn’t mind. “I won’t let your feet touch the ground, love, and you’ll never leave my arms. I’m simply going to make it a show for Henry.”

“For Henry,” she repeats back while taking a deep breath to try to calm her nerves.

“Yeah,” he smiles, nodding. “For Henry. Now, on the count of three. One, two – ”

And then Killian is very literally tossing her up before pulling her down with him. She closes her eyes out of instinct, nerves bubbling back up and making her heart race, but even under the shock of the cold salty water, she can feel Killian’s arms around her, holding her up when she should be totally submerged. He didn’t lie. Her feet never touch the ground. They stay suspended in the water before wrapping around his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck. Being submerged isn’t all that bad, but it’s because she knows she doesn’t have to touch the ground and that if something is going to come and attack them, it might get Killian instead of her.

She’s a fantastic girlfriend, obviously.

When she finally adjusts to being under the water, she can feel Killian moving, and then they’re above water and she’s gasping for air and opening her eyes to see Killian still right in front of her. She’s distracted by the way that water trickles down his face and how his hair is pushed back off his forehead except for these few strands are dangling forward. His smile is bright and wide, and the feel of him pressed up against her body feels as warm as the sun shining down on her back.

And really, she nearly forgets about her pinky promise and leans forward to slide her lips over his until she hears Henry’s raucous laughter back on the shore.

“Careful, love,” Killian whispers, “wouldn’t want to spoil the kid’s mood.”

“Later,” Emma promises, echoing their words from earlier, “now let’s get me back to dry land so I can distract him and let you hide those shark teeth.”

“I’ll try to make it as natural as possible.”

“He’s six. I don’t think he’ll notice.”

“But he’s a smart lad, Swan. Wouldn’t want him to catch onto our devious plans.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

She and Killian quickly get back to the shore, and Henry is still laughing, all of his teeth showing and his eyes nearly closed from how he can’t seem to stop. Emma immediately chases after him, wrapping him in a hug and swaying him back and forth as she jokingly gets onto him for conspiring with Killian to throw her in the water. He apologizes, but Emma’s not mad, not at this.

Looking over her shoulder, she can see Killian shuffling through the tote bag, and Emma turns back to Henry with her own bright smile.

“Race you down to that pink umbrella?”

“What do I win?”

“Who says you’re going to win, kid?”

And then she’s sprinting away, and Henry is sprinting after her. She can easily beat him, even with the magical energy and speed that a six-year-old has, but since that would take the joy out of everything, she keeps managing to trip up or slow down until Henry is running past her and beating her to the pink umbrella.

When she joins him, she fakes being tired, resting her hands on her knees and exaggerating her breathing. “When did you get so fast?”

“Since I got my new shoes.”

“You’re not even wearing any shoes.”

He shrugs. “I guess they still make me fast.”

Emma laughs and leans down to kiss Henry’s cheek. “C’mon, we need to go put more sunscreen back on you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.

Henry mumbles and grumbles the entire walk back, and Emma leads him back to their own umbrella, where she dries him off before reapplying his sunscreen. He continuously squirms, but she eventually gets him all covered to the point where she sends him off to go get Killian, who is casually sitting in the sand running his hand over the same place.

Smooth.

She watches as Killian waits for Henry to get near him. Henry plops down next to him, and they talk for a minute or two before Killian pulls something up from the sand and shows it to Henry, who is more excited than she thinks anyone should be to find a shark tooth. But this is what he wanted, even if Killian had to fudge the truth a little to get there, and Emma’s not going to question it as they keep walking around with Henry’s little plastic shovel discovering more and more teeth.

Emma grabs her phone and takes a picture of the two of them examining one they found, and she tries not to examine it too much as her heart beats a little faster and her cheeks heat. It has absolutely nothing to do with the sunshine.

This is good.

This is really damn good, and she lets herself hope that maybe this is going to be the time where it all works out.

-/-

Killian pulls into her apartment complex and puts the car in park before turning the key. He looks back before patting her leg. “He’s asleep.”

“He was out the moment we got in the car. He had a long day.”

“Well, should I let you two go? I – ”

“Do you want to come inside?” Emma interrupts. “It won’t take me long to put him to bed and then we can see what’s on Netflix.”

He nods, and smiles, almost shy. She likes when his smile is tentative like that, likes that he cares not to overstep with her. “I’d love that, Swan.”

Emma gets out of the car and opens the back door to get Henry as Killian gets all of their bags from the trunk. She’s thankful now that she made him get in the outdoor shower at the pier and change clothes after dinner, so now she doesn’t have to worry about getting him in the bath before bed. She picks him up and lets him wrap himself around her, and then they walk upstairs, careful to stay quiet so that he doesn’t wake.

She thinks she’s in the clear when she’s got him in bed, but then his eyes flutter open.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, kid.”

He nods and opens his eyes a little wider. “Mom?”

“Yeah?” she asks, smoothing his hair over his forehead.

“I like Killian.”

Emma swallows and then nods, trying to hold in her smile. “Me too.”

“You can kiss him now, but only a little.”

Emma laughs and leans down to press her lips against Henry’s forehead. “Goodnight, Henry. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed again.

She waits until she knows that he’s asleep, and then she stands from his bed and walks out of Henry’s bedroom. Killian’s sitting on the couch when she gets to the living room, their bags all put away and the mess in the kitchen cleaned, and Emma walks toward him until she’s sitting down next to him and curling into his side, resting her elbow on his shoulder as his arm wraps around her. waits

“Hey.”

“Hey, beautiful.”

Emma ducks her head and smiles before looking back up at him. “I have some good news for you.”

His brow arches. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. You’ve gotten the Henry Swan seal of approval. He said you could kiss me…but only a little.”

“Oh, well, if the lad insists, I guess I have to listen.” His mouth lingers over hers, tantalizingly close and tempting, “but only a little.”

And then he kisses her, and Emma melts into it and him and how damn good this day was.

Mostly, though, she’s happy that there’s going to be more of them.

#pinky promises #cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan

144 notes · View notes

wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

Text

The Bend of the Arc (1/ 4)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan hates Killian Jones at first sight. He's everything she despises in a man: arrogant, provocative, and a known criminal associate of the city’s most notorious gangster. She’s determined to put him behind bars, until a shocking event forces them together and Emma discovers that there’s a lot more to Killian than meets the eye.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @stahlop! ~ I know it’s a little early your time, but I have zero chill. Lisa, it’s been so wonderful getting to know you this past year or so, especially watching you get back into writing! You said you’d like to see my take on the enemies-to-lovers trope, and so here it is—I hope you enjoy it. Have a FANTASTIC birthday 😘😘😘

(note: Crime is soooo not my genre, but I did my best with it. If there’s anything I completely effed up it’s okay to tell me about it, but please be gentle 😘😘)

Rating: M (language and eventual smut) Words: 5.8k (of 30k total) Tags: Modern AU, enemies to lovers, bounty hunter!Emma, criminal!Killian, smut, bedsharing, stranded together

On AO3

PART ONE:

She could smell the despair the moment she walked through the door. That wasn’t unexpected; grim places frequented by grimmer people were the bread and butter of her trade and this particular grim place—a grimy hole in the wall near the harbour—bled exactly the same hopelessness as the rest of them. It was, however, not where she’d expected to locate this particular mark, and she didn’t care for the unexpected. In her line of work, unexpected could get you killed.

He was here, though, right where her informant had said she would find him, and she spotted him the moment she walked through the door. He didn’t even look out of place, despite the expensive cut of his hair and his jacket, despite his goddamned Italian shoes. He should have stood out, been chased away, should never even have known a place like this existed, and yet here he was, slumped over the bar staring moodily into his drink the same as every other sad sack in the joint.

She didn’t like it. It was unexpected.

She slid onto the barstool next to him, taking care to allow her hair to drape across his arm. He didn’t move, not so much as a twitch. She exhaled a breathy sigh. No response.

The direct approach it would have to be, then.

“Hey.” She nudged him with her elbow. “What’s good here?”

“Lass.” His eyes never left his glass. “I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree with me this evening. I’m not in the mood.”

“What mood?” She gave a light, tinkling laugh. “I just asked what’s good.”

“Try the rum.” He drained his glass and set it down firmly on the bar. “The Botucal. Only place in town that serves it. Everything else here is swill.”

He stood up and left, without so much as a glance in her direction.

I didn’t matter, though. She’d seen enough to know that it was him, and with her mark positively identified it was time to move in for the kill. She slipped off her stool and followed him out into the night, shivering in the chill breeze that blew in off the sea. She always forgot how much cooler it was near the water.

She looked around for the mark and spotted him a short distance away, walking in the direction of the marina. Probably headed for his boat, she thought. She hurried to catch him up, moving on the balls of her feet so her heels wouldn’t click on the pavement.

When she reached him he was just passing the harbourmaster’s office, a small building made of weatherbeaten wooden boards and with its door secured by a heavy iron chain looped through the handles, and she smiled to herself as she extracted her handcuffs from beneath her skirt. Perfect. In one swift, practiced move, she grabbed his arm and snapped a cuff around his wrist.

“Killian Jones,” she said. “I’m here to—”

He moved faster than she would have imagined him capable, using her hold on his arm to spin her around and slam her back against the door of the office, knocking the wind out of her.

He held her there with his body pressed firmly against hers and even in her dazed state she registered the warmth and sturdiness of it, the spicy smell of his skin. His breath ruffled the fine hairs on her temple as he leaned in close to murmur in her ear. “I know precisely who you are, darling, and what you’re here to do,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “And I’m afraid I can’t allow it. You should have stayed in the bar.”

“Then I wouldn’t have caught you.” Her own voice was breathy.

“You haven’t caught me now.”

Her head snapped up at the amusement in his tone and she got a good look at his face for the first time. Even in the faint glow of the harbour lights the sight was breathtaking. Photographs really didn’t do him justice.

“Yeah? Who’s the one in cuffs?” she retorted.

There was a tug on her wrist and an ominous click, and the smile on his face became a smirk. “I believe you are, love,” he replied.

“What the fuck?” She looked down to see her own damn handcuffs, now attached to her own wrist. He held her un-cuffed wrist firmly as he looped the cuffs through the heavy chain securing the door handles then clicked the second one into place on it, chaining her to the door.

“What the fuck?” she repeated, her voice rising to a shriek as she tugged on the chain. “How the hell did you—”

“Come now, you must have read my files. I dare say you know more about me than I do myself.” He held up a small leather case that she recognised as a set of lock picks and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Did it never occur to you that I might be able to get myself out of handcuffs? No?” He clucked his tongue. “That is a shame.”

She tugged at the chain again, “Let me go!”

“I fear that’s impossible, darling. As I told you before I can’t allow you to take me in. I have business to attend that won’t wait while I spend the night in a cell.”

“It’ll be a lot more than one night!”

“It won’t be any nights. Also a shame. I wouldn’t mind at all spending a night with you, particularly one in which bars and handcuffs feature prominently.” He leaned in close to her again, dragging his nose up her cheek as his hand curled around her hip, thumb stroking just above the apex of her thighs. She snarled in outrage and he chuckled. “Beautiful, fiery woman like you,” he growled into her ear. “I’ve no doubt you’d make it memorable.”

“I wouldn’t—” She was so furious she could barely speak. “Never—not in a million—not if you—the last man—”

He chuckled again and stepped back. “Aye, love, I get the picture. Not if I were the last man on Earth, et cetera et cetera. I could change your mind, of course—” he smirked at her furious snarl “—but alas I’ve no time.”

He shrugged off his jacket and moved to drape it around her shoulders and she recoiled with a hiss. “Get the fuck away from me!”

“Now, darling, you may be here for some time. It’s a chilly night and you are, if you’ll forgive me, not appropriately attired for the sea air. Don’t freeze to death out of spite. If nothing else it’d be a highly embarrassing way to die.”

She ground her teeth, but when he stepped forward again she allowed him to tuck the jacket around her shoulders. She hadn’t registered just how cold she was until engulfed in its warmth, in heat carried by his body and still bearing his spicy scent. His fingertips brushed the nape of her neck as he pulled her hair free of the jacket and she shivered, not from the cold this time.

“Such a shame,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“You’ll pay for this,” she spat.

“As much as I hate to keep contradicting you, darling, no I won’t.” He smoothed the jacket over her shoulders and gave them a little pat. “Now you just sit tight right here and I’ll send someone to collect you. Let’s hope they don’t take too long.”

He backed away with his eyes still on her, tilting his head to the side and biting down on his lower lip. Fury surged through her and she yanked at the chains again, letting out a guttural shriek when he simply laughed and turned away. She kept her eyes on him as he strolled along the waterfront like a man without a care in the world, until he turned onto one of the piers and disappeared from view.

“Emma?”

The voice, masculine and familiar, jolted her from her half-doze and she lifted her head, blinking in the harsh glare of a flashlight and trying to focus.

“Is that—Graham?”

“Fucking hell, Emma, it is you! I thought he was—here, let me get you out of those cuffs.”

Emma struggled up from the awkward crouching position she’d been in as Graham put his flashlight away and took out his keys. “Graham, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you.”

He undid the cuffs and waited as she stood up straight and stretched her aching arms and shoulders.

“How did you know where I was?” she asked, reaching out her hand for her cuffs.

He held them out to her, but when she took them didn’t let go. “Emma,” he said solemnly.

“What?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“What?” She tugged on the cuffs and he released them. “What the fuck is going on, Graham? Tell me!”

He sighed. “I need you to stop chasing Killian Jones.”

“What?”

“Come on. We need to go to the station and then I’ll explain.”

“He’s working undercover!?”

“Yeah.” Graham’s face was solemn, with no hint of the smile he usually had for her. “He is. For over two years now.”

“Two years? Fuck.”

“Exactly. But it’s nearly over. We’re so close, Emma, to the biggest RICO case of the last fifty years. We can shut down Pan’s whole operation in one move, but all of it, everything, hinges on Jones. We need him.”

Emma’s lip curled. “And what does he get out of it? Immunity, I suppose.”

“Yes. His record will be completely expunged. Clean slate.”

“But he’s a criminal!”

Graham sighed and rubbed his temples. “They all are, Emma.”

“See, this is why I never wanted to be a cop,” she sneered, leaning back in her chair. They were sitting in an interrogation room in Graham’s precinct, surrounded by confidential files and cold coffee. “You ignore the crimes of one asshole in exchange for getting your hands on a bigger asshole. But that still leaves the first asshole loose on the streets, and with a clean slate this time. How is that justice?”

“Justice is never perfect,” said Graham shortly. “Nothing is. We do the best we can.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“It has to be, because it’s all we’ve got.” He leaned across the table, his eyes intense. “Emma, listen to me. Jones believes you actually did him a favour tonight. He’d been getting the sense that Pan no longer fully trusted him, but being actively pursued for a freaking eight-year-old bench warrant of all things seems to have brought him back in the boss’s good graces. That is the only, and I do mean only reason you are not in some serious fucking shit right now.”

“What, for doing my job?” Emma scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I not seem fucking serious?” snapped Graham. “Did you not hear me say this is the biggest case in half a century? Do you not understand the goddamn consequences if it goes wrong, especially now?”

“I—”

“Let me be perfectly clear about this. You cannot bring Jones in. If you do, this precinct will never work with you again, and neither will any of the others once they hear about it.”

“But I—”

“And that’s not all. I’ve put you in serious danger by giving you this information. I’m sorry for that, but I knew you wouldn’t back off just because I asked you to. And frankly we are all in fucking danger. Jones’s cover is as deep as it gets and the position he’s in right now is deadly precarious. If he’s blown before we can close the case it won’t just be him who dies. Do you hear what I’m saying, Emma?”

She nodded, too frustrated for speech.

“I’m trusting you, trusting your discretion and hoping like fuck that this one time you can leave your damn principles at the door and be realistic. Forget about Killian Jones. Not for his sake, for your own.”

It was the biggest RICO case in fifty years, and it went off without a hitch. Every member of Pan’s criminal organisation was arrested, from the kids who ran the street-level scams right up to the boss himself. Moles that had been embedded in the police department for decades were rooted out and an entire network of sham businesses collapsed. Crime in the city came screeching to a halt as even Pan’s competitors scrambled for cover.

The evidence against them was solid, detailed and airtight, and one by one every single mob canary begged to sing. Fingers were pointing in every direction, many at each other but most of them straight at Pan, and the district attorney was confident that with a bit of manoeuvring she could see every last one of them behind bars for a very long time.

Every one but Killian Jones.

He was never mentioned by name in any of the reports or the news articles, simply referred to as ‘an undercover informant’. But Emma knew. He’d done one job and now he was free and clear, and the fact that he had spent ten years as Pan’s right hand didn’t even seem to faze the police.

“How do you know he won’t just step into the power vacuum left by Pan?” she demanded of Graham one afternoon, as he processed the paperwork for a shoplifter she’d brought in. “Someone’s going to.”

“It won’t be him.”

“But how can you know?”

“I trust him.”

Emma stared, unable to believe her ears. “I can’t believe I ever considered dating you,” she spat. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“You considered dating me?” Graham repeated, gaping at her.

She shrugged. “Yeah, for like half a second, back when we first met. You were hinting pretty heavily and honestly? I don’t shit where I eat, otherwise I probably would have said yes. But that was before I found out you trust criminals.”

“Not criminals. Criminal, singular. Just this one.”

“But why?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“God damn it, Graham!”

Graham set his jaw stubbornly. “Look, Emma, I get that you feel betrayed and I’m sorry for that. But this is how the police work. It’s legal and it’s final. Killian’s record is clean now. Leave him alone.”

But she couldn’t. She did try, as much as she was able, but Emma Swan could never let anything go once her sense of outrage had been triggered and she couldn’t think about Killian Jones or anything related to him without outrage. She still had the jacket he’d left her in, hung in her closet right next to her own so that every time she donned the red leather she saw it there, mocking her, keeping her anger burning fierce and hot.

And so she watched him. Subtly, because she could be fucking subtle, using her own network of informants that the cops didn’t know about. She tracked his movements, all his comings and goings from his house to his offices, and she traced his business dealings, bank records, tax reports, everything and anything she could get her hands on.

It was all clean. He was never seen in any of Pan’s old haunts or associating with anyone remotely shady, his accounts showed a healthy income from legitimate sources. Businesses he had set up as part of his role in Pan’s organisation and then cleaned up once Pan was taken down.

And yet. There was too much income, Emma felt. It was too clean. Too much money, too many businesses, far too quickly. Leopards, as the cliche goes, do not change their spots, and Emma was certain that Killian Jones was as spotted as they came. She just wished she knew how he was hiding them.

The elegant marble foyer of the Gold mansion was the furthest imaginable thing from a grimy dockside dive bar but the smell of despair was here as well, just of a different kind. The despair of people who have more money than they could ever spend and are still unhappy, who have come to realise that however many cars or jewels or houses they buy the emptiness inside them remains.

At least the other smells were better. Emma inhaled deeply as she entered, breathing in the aromas of a dozen different perfumes and colognes, along with some mouthwatering canapés of which she fully intended to partake. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to wrangle this invitation, she might as well enjoy herself.

Snagging a glass of champagne from one passing tray and a mini crab soufflé topped with caviar from another, she sauntered into the room, deliberately drawing and ignoring the eyes upon her. The dress she wore was far subtler than her usual work attire, long and flowing and draped in a way that suggested far more than it revealed. Its deep crimson hue flattered her pale hair and skin and the faint shimmer in the fabric caught the light as she moved.

Emma popped the last bite of soufflé into her mouth and resisted the urge to lick her fingers. Instead she sipped her champagne and looked around for another tray. One passed by bearing what looked like tiny donuts and she almost dove to grab one. Biting into it, she found that it was savoury and filled with a feather-light truffled chicken mousse. She closed her eyes on a moan of delight, and when she opened them again Killian Jones was standing in front of her, watching her with an expression she found deeply objectionable.

“Well, darling, I do hope you’re not here for me this time,” he said.

Emma sneered. “I’m not.”

“Learnt our lesson, have we?” he replied with a smirk.

She ground her teeth. “I’ve simply got bigger fish to hook,” she said.

“Indeed. Considering that I am an entirely innocent man.”

She snorted.

“That infuriates you, doesn’t it,” he observed, smirk deepening. “That I walked free.”

Nearly a year’s worth of frustration and righteous fury bubbled up inside Emma, bursting forth before she could stop it. “It’s not right!” she exclaimed. “It’s not justice!”

“No, it’s just not perfect justice. Though one certainly could argue that a decade spent under the thumb of a madman is more than enough punishment for whatever crimes I committed.”

Something in his voice troubled her, a pained sincerity that niggled at her conscience. She ignored it. “Rationalise it all you like, if it helps you sleep at night,” she retorted.

“Oh, I have no trouble sleeping,” he said, stepping closer and leaning into her space, hips first. “Though occasionally I do forgo it voluntarily, in favour of more… enjoyable activities.”

“You’re filthy.”

“I certainly can be,” he purred. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want nothing from you.”

“Well love, we both know that’s not true.”

“Oh do we?”

“We do. You’re something of an open book, you see.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am the opposite of that.”

“You’d like to be. But for those who know how to look, your tells are obvious.”

“Bullshit.”

He shifted, standing straighter and observing her with blue eyes that went, between one blink and the next, from flirtatious to coolly assessing, sharply analytical. She felt a flare of alarm in her chest, and the worrying suspicion that she may have underestimated him.

“The relaxed posture,” he said. “That’s one. You’re a woman of action, rarely still. If you stop moving you start thinking, and you, Emma Swan, hate nothing more than being in your own head. You’re tense all the time unless you’re pretending not to be, as you are now. Playing the role of carefree society girl, perfectly at home in these glittering surroundings where you are in actual fact deeply uncomfortable.”

She attempted a laugh. “Maybe I’m just having a good time.”

“You’re holding that glass so tightly you’re in danger of snapping the stem, and you’re digging the heel of your shoe into the floor. It takes a lot of effort to maintain that outward calm, which is why you don’t normally bother. You hate artifice, bullshit as you would call it, and your plan tonight is to get in, get your mark and get out. After you’ve eaten your fill of the food, that is.” The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “Do correct me if any of this is wrong.”

“It’s all wrong,” she snapped.

“Now, love, don’t you start to bullshit.”

Emma’s fingers clenched tighter on the champagne glass and she deliberately forced them to relax. “Why don’t you just leave me alone,” she hissed.

His eyes softened, and heated with an expression that made her belly clench. “Because you intrigue me,” he murmured.

“Well you disgust me.”

He laughed. “Liar.”

“How dare you—”

He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, his fingers close enough that she could feel the heat of them but not their touch, and when he spoke again his voice was rough. “You’ve a delightful pale pink flush all across your skin, your pupils are dilated, your breathing shallow. And your pulse—” His hand glided down her arm and wrapped around her wrist, fingertips pressing gently onto her pulse point. “It’s racing, love. I don’t require any special skills to pick up on these tells.” He caught her gaze, his own heated and intense. “Would it help if I confessed that the attraction is entirely mutual?”

“No!”

“Pity.”

She tried to pull her arm from his grip but he held fast, leaning closer still to murmur in her ear. “He’s over by the fountain.”

She wouldn’t look, thought Emma. She wouldn’t. She closed her eyes as Killian released her and the heat and intoxicating scent of him moved away. She didn’t want his help, didn’t need it. Resented it. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking and of course there he was. Her mark, standing in front of the fountain at the centre of the room.

“How the hell did you know—” she spun around but Killian was gone.

Emma took a deep breath and then another, to calm herself and focus her concentration on her task. She smoothed her hair and the front of her dress and tossed back the rest of her champagne, gave her boobs a little boost and headed for the mark, a soft smile on her face and a gentle swing in her hips.

She had crossed about half the distance between them when he tensed visibly and his shoulders shifted, like he was trying to pull them back and stand straight but was defeated by the power of his own sullen slouch. For a moment she thought he might have made her, but his eyes were fixed on something across the room, something—or someone—blocked from her view by the fountain. Emma slowed her pace, keeping her distance until he made whatever move he had planned. For several seconds he stared intently at whatever, whoever, held his attention and then he nodded, shoulders slumping even lower than they’d been before, and moved on surprisingly light and agile feet towards a small door behind the foyer’s grand staircase. With a quick glance around the room he slipped silently though it and a moment later Emma followed.

Behind the door was a long, shadowy hallway that fulfilled her every expectation of what a mansion corridor should look like. The carpet beneath her feet was so thick that her steps made no sound as she followed the mark, past paintings and statues and even an honest-to-goodness suit of armour. She felt her jaw drop as she took it all in, until the mark turned a corner and she had to speed up her pursuit so as not to lose him.

She made it around the corner in time to catch a glimpse of him disappearing through a door, and when she reached it she found that it hadn’t fully shut. She slipped her foot through the gap and eased it open until she could see into the room beyond.

It looked like a museum. Or at least what she imagined museums should look like; she hadn’t visited many. It was a vast room that felt curiously airless, with tall ceilings and no widows, panelled entirely in wood. The same wood that made up the many low tables scattered over more of the same thick rugs that lined the hallway. Upon each of these tables a statue stood. Women, mostly, and some men, all naked. Made of marble, Emma imagined, though she was hardly an expert. Weren’t statues generally made of marble? They were definitely some kind of stone, or she supposed possibly plaster. It was hard to tell the difference from so far away.

Tentatively she nudged the door and when it made no noise pushed it open further and slipped into the room, weaving through the statues in search of her mark. A voice spoke just ahead and to her right and she moved quickly over the silent carpets, stopping when she caught sight of a pair of polished shoes and the tip of a black cane, and ducking behind a statue, out of sight of the man who spoke.

“So,” he said, his voice cold and without inflection, and with a hint of an accent she couldn’t place. “Do you have it?”

“I—” the mark began.

“Do not disappoint me, Felix,” the cold voice interrupted. “You would not like for me to be disappointed.”

Emma crouched down and peeked around the leg of the statue that shielded her, just enough so she could see both men clearly. The mark, Felix, was in his early twenties, with a sullen face to match his posture and lank blond hair that fell into his eyes. He’d been arrested for loitering two months ago and missed his court date, but there was nothing else on his record worse than a few shoplifting charges and possession with intent. This meeting, this whole damn situation, seemed well above his pay grade and she should have known that, Emma berated herself. She should have smelled a rat from the start, but instead she’d let herself be distracted by canapés and by Killian goddamn Jones, and forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

She could almost hear Felix’s terrified gulp. “I—I couldn’t get it,” he whined. “Jones said—”

“Do not speak to me of Killian Jones,” hissed the other man, a slight, elegantly dressed one with long hair and a thin face in which teeth and eyes were prominent. “I will deal with him when the time is right. For now—” He lifted his cane and Felix cringed.

“No, sir, please. I’ll get it I promise—”

“Your promises are worthless to me,” said the elegant man, with a reptilian smile that made Emma’s skin crawl. He was enjoying this, she realised, feeding off of Felix’s terror and craven grovelling as he slowly advanced. He twisted the head of his cane and with a faint swish and a mechanical clank a long, sharp blade appeared from the end of it. Felix stared at the blade, frozen in fear.

“They are, in fact,” the elegant man continued, closing the remaining distance between them, “as worthless as you are.” He bared his teeth and plunged the blade into Felix’s heart.

Emma gasped. She couldn’t help it. For all the hardships she’d suffered in her life—the uncaring foster families, the time on the streets, the teenage pregnancy—she had never witnessed a crime more serious than petty theft and drug dealing. Nothing like cold-blooded murder. She would have liked to think herself tough enough to handle the sight without flinching but she was overcome by the sheer horror of it. The blood that bloomed across Felix’s shirt and the way the life drained from his body. The cold, cold triumph of the man who killed him. It was the worst thing she’d ever seen, could ever imagine seeing, and though she clapped her hand across her mouth it was too late. The noise of her indrawn breath was loud in the room’s still air and the man looked sharply at her. He couldn’t see her behind the statue—she didn’t think he could—but he knew precisely where she was.

“Well, well,” he said. “It appears we have a loose end.”

Emma ran. She didn’t hesitate or stop to think, just leapt up from her crouch and sprinted, as fast as her high heels and the confusing layout of the statues would allow. She had no idea if the man had any backups—he seemed the sort who would, though she hadn’t seen or heard anyone but himself and Felix—but she knew that no matter what it was riskier to try to hide than just to run, to put as much distance between herself and the man as she could and try to get away.

She headed straight for where she thought the door was but soon found herself disoriented. There was no clear path through the statues and they all looked the same—white limbs and torsos atop identical tables, on a carpet with the same repeating pattern, in a room with no markings of any kind on the walls. She could hear the man behind her, his steady breathing as he pursued her across the thick carpet, not running, of course not, because doing so would tire him and that steady, deliberate pace was far more terrifying, damn him, and she tried to run faster, grabbing blindly at a small piece of statue as she passed. It was lighter than she’d expected—perhaps plaster then, not stone—and she flung it back the way she’d come, not looking at where it flew, not stopping to see what it hit when it crashed and shattered behind her.

She reached the wall but there was no door on it, just identical wooden panels repeating all along its length. One of those must be the door, Emma thought. There had to be a door, she’d come in through one. She began to feel along the wall looking for a knob or a button or a loose join, anything at all that might trigger it to open. Now that she was no longer running she felt her fear much more acutely, gripping her chest and clouding her mind and edging her dangerously close to panic.

“I don’t know who you are,” called the elegant man’s voice, from much closer behind her than she’d hoped. “But I’m very much taken with your lovely hair and that glorious red dress. Very… memorable, both of them. Very distinct.”

Emma’s search for the door grew frantic. She tried to keep calm and focused but all she could think was that she was alone in this room with a murderer. An absolutely remorseless killer was mere feet behind her and there was no door. There was no fucking door and that meant no escape. She was trapped here in this airless, noiseless place and she was going to die.

A sob rose in her throat, almost drowning the soft click to her left. The panel next to her swung open and she could just make out the silhouette of a man among the shadows of the hallway beyond. Was this the backup, then, she wondered? A henchman come to block her escape, force her back into the clutches of the elegant man? The appearance of this new threat snapped her back into herself, gave her something to do, and she seized on that with desperate relief. Holding herself loose but alert she bent her knees, settled her weight over the balls of her feet and prepared to defend herself as best she could. It wasn’t likely she could stop them killing her, but she could damned well make it difficult, and now that the door was open she had at least a slim chance of escape.

The shadows shifted as the man in the doorway reached out with a speed and deftness of movement she’d seen only once before, and quicker than she could react he grabbed her and yanked her against him, clapping his hand over her mouth and pinning her arms to her sides, pulling her back through the door and letting it fall shut behind them. When it had latched with another soft click, the man swung Emma to one side and gave the door a sharp kick with the heel of his shoe, jamming the delicate mechanism that controlled it.

Emma seized the advantage of his momentary imbalance to try to struggle free, wriggling in his loosened grasp and aiming a kick at his instep, but again he was too quick for her. He shifted his weight to avoid her swinging foot and adjusted his hold, tucking her tightly against his side and dragging her with him as he headed away from the door, moving rapidly despite her furious squirming, along the hallway and down a darkened stairwell and through a side door of the mansion then out into the night.

“I have a car waiting,” he growled in her ear, picking up their pace now they were out of the house. “It’s idling at the end of this driveway. If you don’t get in it, right now, you will die. Don’t make me tie you up, Swan. As much as I would enjoy that in other circumstances.”

Emma could see the car he meant, the only one in the long driveway that was running. When they reached it she dug her heels hard into the loose gravel beneath them, throwing Killian Jones—because of course it was fucking him—off balance just enough that his grip loosened and she was able to jam her elbow into his ribs, wriggling away when he huffed in pain.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked.

“Keep your voice down,” he snarled, grabbing her arm and pulling her back again. He scowled down at her, his eyes angry and frustrated and scared. It was the fear that caught Emma’s attention, made her pause. “I should bloody well let him kill you,” Killian muttered. “But instead I am going to save your life, whether you like it or not. Now get in the damned car, woman.”

Emma yanked her arm from his grasp and this time he let her go. They stood glaring at each other, breathing hard, gripped by a very similar anger and, more worryingly, the exact same fear.

“Why should I trust you?” she demanded.

“You have no earthly reason to,” he replied. “But that man you saw in the gallery, that is Robert Gold, and however vile you think me I assure you he is a hundred times worse. The devil or the deep blue sea, take your pick, love.”

Emma stared at him, searching for the lie, for the deceit she knew had to be there. But there was none. For the first time in their acquaintance he was being completely serious, and completely honest. Damn it.

She got in the car.

Millions of thanks to @thisonesatellite and @ohmightydevviepuu for holding my hand in this unfamiliar genre. Also, tagging everyone who showed an interest in the snippet of this I posted a few weeks ago. If you don’t want to be tagged in further updates, PLEASE let me know 😘 @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @katie-dub @spartanguard @darkcolinodonorgasm @courtorderedcake @squidvisious @cluttermind @teamhook

#cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs ff au #modern au #bounty hunter!emma #criminal!killian #enemies to lovers #birthday fic #stahlop #the bend of the arc #profdanglaisstuff

118 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

One Foot In (7/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 10.2K, because, listen, it takes some adjectives to get to happily ever after AN: Hey, this is a finished fic! If you have been hanging around for the last few weeks and clicking on things and reading things and saying nice things, I think you’re swell. I also think you’re swell if you haven’t done any of those things. This was a much longer fic than I remembered, and it’s real nice that you guys waited for me to post it. I will probably continue to hoard fics. (But, seriously, if you’re ever like “I’d like to read that!” Send me a message and I’ll totally send you the Google doc.)

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam, or you can start from the start ||

@shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda @thejollyroger-writer

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-four days and, approximately...it absolutely does not matter. It feels as if her heart has shattered, a line running directly through everything, shaking and flipping it and her own breathing is ragged in her ears.

She can’t move. She can’t stop moving.

Her fingers trace over Killian, everything impossibly still and several other words Emma refuses to give credence to. The stubble on his jaw scrapes at the pads of fingers, the skin above it smoother than she expected it to be.

The tiny crinkles around his eyes are still there, like he was halfway to smiling before being the world’s biggest goddamn idiot and Emma is a little disappointed in herself that she’s kind of mad. She’s kind of furious.

“No,” Emma whispers. The word wobbles its way out of her, desperate and weak and neither one of those are particularly good words to be considering with the visual and powerful embodiment of, possibly, all the evil in the world standing a few feet away from her.

Her fingers are still moving.

And it’s honestly not fair that this is the moment – the chance to see and feel and commit every single touch to memory. There’s no reaction, and part of Emma’s brain, the part that’s a giant dick apparently, is quick to point out it’s because Killian is dead and died trying to save her and—

“No, no, no, no, no.”

That time the word comes out more determined, as if she’ll be able to change what she can see and feel in front of her simply by willing it so. She’s got magic. She should be able to fix this.

She can’t understand a world where Killian Jones is dead.

And yet.

The world does not seem to give a single fuck about what Emma Swan wants. Ever.

She hadn’t been holding her breath, was desperate for a few extra molecules of oxygen, but the air rushes out of her in a huff, a noise she’s never made and would never like to hear again flying out of the very center of her.

Ruby jerks her head up at the sound, eyes wide and tears obvious on her cheeks. She shakes her head slightly, an unspoken command or promise that Emma can’t possibly be expected to understand in the moment.

And it only takes a second, but Emma suddenly realizes she isn’t actually crying. Her cheeks are painfully dry. Everything feels that way, in fact, as if she’s been standing in the middle of the desert for weeks on end and her whole being has been drained. There’s nothing, no push or pull, just an endless sense of desperation and...nothing.

As if nothing were a feeling.

It might be.

“No,” Emma whispers, and she briefly wonders if she’ll ever say anything else. She wonders if she’ll ever find something worth believing in again or if everything will be one endless contradiction – dead and alive, powerful and weak, nothing and everything, all at once.

It’s the single most depressing thing she’s ever thought.

She swallows, licking suddenly dry lips and she knows there has to be more. The Darkness has been silent the entire time. That can’t possibly be right.

There has to be something else. Emma has to do something else. She assumes. She can’t imagine the world will let her go this easily – let her fall off the edge and into the nothing she can see stretching out in front of her, a quiet and acquiesce that would make Killian’s eyes narrow and his lips twist and—

“Killian,” Emma breathes, head falling forward until the tips of her hair drag across his chest.

He doesn't move. He’s dead.

He’s dead.

And Emma’s knees ache, pressed into the floor because of course they’d moved off the carpet and that seems kind of unfair, but that’s the trend they’re going with and the creak of the Darkness moving towards her may be the loudest thing she’s ever heard.

She ignores it. It’s ridiculous – or at least it must be if Ruby’s exclamation is anything to go by and someone else is crying, or, possibly, two someones and if they ever get out this Emma is going to bake Nemo and Shakespeare sixteen pies every single day for the rest of her goddamn life. That only seems reasonable.

“It’s time to stand back up, Savior,” the Darkness says.

Emma doesn’t move. Her knees are never going to forgive her. She cups Killian’s cheek instead, thumb brushing over as much skin as she can reach and the heart she’s certain will never beat again sputters in her chest.

Like it’s trying to prove a point.

He’s honestly ridiculously good looking – all long eyelashes and lips that probably would have felt incredible pressed against Emma’s and the strand of hair that drapes across his forehead is going to brand itself on her memory, she’s sure. She keeps ignoring the Darkness, ignores the fluttering at the back of her skull and the hint of something that may actually be her destiny because that also seems a little absurd, bending her head instead and letting her lips ghost over Killian’s.

It’s not enough, but nothing could ever be enough. Not really. Not when she’d waited and hoped and believed with every single inch of her for so long. So Emma lets herself have the almost, the barely there and could have been and—

“I love you,” she whispers, closing her eyes like that will make the words truer or bring him back. They don’t. She only sort of expected them to.

The Darkness taps his foot behind her. It grates on her nerves. Emma’s nerves will never recover from the last twenty-four hours,

She supposes she deserves that too.

“I’m waiting, Savior,” the Darkness drawls, an impatience that lingers in the air and tastes bitter in the back of Emma’s throat.

Standing up slowly, she refuses to acknowledge the crack of her knees and the snap of her spine. Heroes can’t possibly have joints as weak as hers. Emma licks her lips again – can’t seem to stop, and it’s a nervous, anxious habit that does not bode well for whatever she’s about to do, but she’s also got no idea what she’s about to do so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

She turns, palms flat against the side of her jeans, to find the Darkness gazing at her with passing interest. He tilts his head slightly, hair suddenly looking greasier than it had, as if the magic had settled in every strand and Emma can’t help but recoil at the sight. He looks close to his own edge – drifting dangerously close to manic and the yellow in his eyes has gotten sharper.

Emma digs her nails into her palms and tries to remember.

“Something good,” she mumbles, half to herself and half to the three people behind her. “There’s got to be something good.”

“There is, Emma,” Nemo promises, and she needs to stop turning away from the Darkness. Eventually that will catch up with her. Probably. God, she hopes not.

Nemo’s smile is tremulous at best. It doesn’t match with his watery gaze at all or the shake of his shoulders that he can’t seem to stop, fingers reaching for both Shakespeare and Ruby. But he doesn’t blink and the smile gets a hint stronger the longer he stares at Emma.

She licks her lips again.

And the first tear that falls on her cheek is warm, another brand and feeling and Emma is pleasantly surprised that her legs don’t buckle under her. She makes that noise again, although this one may be slightly different and no less than ten-thousand times worse. Because she knows it was good and can, maybe, be good again, but not quite the same and the barely there of it all feels as if it rips her in half.

It tears at the edges of her, shadows creeping up the walls and lingering around the curve of her right sneaker. It ripples through her, settles in between every one of her ribs and wraps its way around her heart, a slight pressure that isn’t altogether unpleasant, but isn’t entirely enjoyable either. It’s not grief. It’s something deeper, something far more fundamental and, God help her, maybe a little magical.

“It was good, Emma,” Ruby says. Her voice shakes, but her own smile is confident. Nemo tugs her hand up to brush a kiss over knuckles, a familiarity that should be impossible.

Although, all things considered, Emma is, at least, seventy-six percent positive she’s vibrating with the power of her own magic, so, really she can’t bring herself to find anything impossible at this point.

And she can feel the Darkness growing more and more impatient with her.

She turns back around.

“What was that?” Emma demands, nodding towards the barely there puddle on the ground. “What were you trying to do?” The Darkness narrows his eyes. “Have you not figured that out yet? I thought I’d made my plans rather clear.” “Humor me.” There is absolutely no humor in his answering laugh, a twist of his wrist and flick of his fingers and Emma gasps when another goddamn dead body appears at her feet. She wishes that would stop happening.

She wishes death would leave her alone.

“You’re going to bring my boy back,” the Darkness says evenly. “And then I’m going to take control of what should have been mine from the very beginning.” “You said you didn’t have that kind of magic, though.” “And yet I’ve got you, don’t I?” Emma shakes her head. “No, you don’t.” “I’ve won, Savior! The dead man is dead. You’re alone. Again. As you were always meant to be and I’m in complete control of everything. What do you have left to fight for?” He takes a step towards her, and Emma does her best to stand up to her full height. It’d probably be more impressive if she were wearing Ruby’s heels. “There’s no point, Emma Swan. Not anymore. Not for you. So, give me what I want and, maybe, maybe, you’ll be able to find some kind of purpose. There’ll be a reason the Universe gifted you this.”

He’s so close Emma is certain she can feel him – the touch of him on her skin cold enough that goosebumps explode across her arms.

She doesn’t shiver, though, a victory that Emma is going to horde and covet and the other dead body at her feet looks far more dead than she’s entirely used to.

“How long?” she asks, and the Darkness hums in something that may actually be confusion. Her smile makes the muscles in her cheeks ache. “How long have you been trying to bring your son back? Is that—did he die before or after you twisted your own magic?” Ruby curses.

The Darkness doesn’t react immediately. At least not verbally. But Emma can see the tension twist between his shoulders as easily as if she put it there herself, the knuckles of his fingers turning white as he clenches his fists at his side. His eyes get even thinner, barely more than slits on his face and that only serves to make him look even more reptilian.

Like a crocodile. With particularly powerful jaws. And even more powerful magic.

“It should have been mine,” he says, barely loud enough to hear over the ringing in Emma’s ears. “From the very beginning. The world should have—” “—What? Given you power? It did. You’ve got magic.” “Not enough!” Emma doesn’t back up – and, really, she’s got to keep better track of these small victories because she’s barely treading water in a whole sea of emotions and the body in front of her twitches slightly.

“Oh shit,” Ruby hisses.

Emma moves towards her on instinct, taking the hand that isn’t twisted up in Nemo’s. Her fingers aren’t warm, per se, but they’re also not dead. She’ll take it.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Shakespeare demands, inching his chair closer to Nemo’s until the wood scrapes loudly

Baelfire stops moving. His skin looks almost transparent now, a grey pallor to it that makes him seem less human. The clothes he’s wearing aren’t quite as ragged as the Darkness, as if they’ve been cared for – for a very long time.

She has no idea why the realization makes her stomach clench.

“Why did you change your magic?” Emma presses, and she’s not sure who’s squeezing whose hand tighter, her or Ruby. “If you wanted to bring your son back—” “I didn’t change my magic to bring my son back,” the Darkness screams. The words sail across the room, sharp and angry and Emma hopes there aren’t spells involved. If there are spells involved, she’s certain they’ve all just been cursed.

It feels absurd to check that they haven’t been turned into frogs, but her eyes glance down anyway. Still human.

Still fighting the embodiment of all evil.

Still not entirely coping with Killian being dead.

“Oh,” Emma says, understanding slamming into her hard enough that she has to bite back a groan. “It was before then wasn’t it? You wanted...did you want power?”

The Darkness doesn’t respond.

“I’m going to take that as a yes, then. Alright, alright. So you were what? Born with magic? But light magic, right?”

Still no answer.

“Seems like another yes,” Ruby mumbles, thumb tapping absentmindedly against Emma’s wrist.

Shakespeare hums in agreement. “Keep going, sweetheart. Look at him.” Emma’s head snaps around, and she’s got to stop gasping. It can’t be good for the overall dryness level of her lips. She doesn’t think there’s any ChapStick in her car. But Shakespeare is right – the Darkness isn’t moving, stuck in the same spot by the few pinpricks of light around him. They’re not quite bright, flickering slightly as if they’re only barely holding on to whatever is fueling them – it’s magic, it’s obvious – but they’re still there and fighting and Ruby is definitely the one who squeezes Emma’s hand that time.

“Ok, ok,” Emma chants. “So, um...you were born with magic, but it wasn’t much, right? Or at least wasn’t enough for you. And then you...you grow up?” “Happens to the best of us,” Nemo cuts in. He winks at Emma when she glances in his direction.

“So you grow up,” she continues, only staying in one spot because of the grip Ruby’s got on her fingers. “And you met someone and had the kid and something’s got to change. Shit, what could have changed?” Emma glances around - as if the answer will present itself suddenly and, well, it kind of does. In the form of Ruby’s fingers.

“Oh my God,” Emma growls. “Were you some kind of wrestler in another life? What the hell was—” “Where’s the mother?” Ruby asks.

Emma is going to have to buy stock in ChapStick to deal with her lips.

The Darkness blinks, shoulders shifting with the force of his deep breath and the body on the ground twitches again. Emma can feel the rush of magic, but it’s not right. There’s too much and not enough, another strange line to walk, but she knows it won’t work.

The magic is wrong.

It’s not going to do anything.

“Magic always comes with a price,” the Darkness says softly. “Always. No matter what we try and do to prevent it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It means that there wasn’t enough. I couldn’t control what I wanted to control and I couldn’t control her.” “Do you hear yourself? That seems like a dick move.” “Oh my God, Ruby,” Emma mumbles, but she can’t actually disagree and she’s got a horrible idea of where this is going. “So, let me take a guess. You’ve got magic. It’s not much because, like you said, the world had started to try and balance itself out. So you’ve only got a tiny amount, not nearly enough to inspire much confidence or lord your power over other people and what--did she leave? Is that what happened.” Silence.

Emma smiles.

She hates that.

“That’s what happened, isn’t it?” she asks. “You tried to control things, tried to control your wife, so it blew up in your face and you were alone. Except you weren’t because there was—” Emma nods in the direction of the body, the other body, and maybe they should just burn this entire goddamn house. That thought makes her stomach twist uncomfortably too. “You weren’t alone, but you didn’t care did you?” The Darkness shakes his head. It’s not a disagreement. It’s anger and fury and a wave of something that slams against Emma’s legs, knees buckling against the force of it.

“Shut up,” he growls. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “What did you give up? If all magic has a price, what was the price you were willing to pay to twist your magic? Must have been something horrible.” The whole word shakes.

That’s the only reasonable explanation. Emma isn’t sure reason exists anymore.

There aren’t any frames left to fall, but the glass on the ground shifts and the couch the Darkness had been perched on tips, a small crash that’s barely noticeable over the echo of something that sounds like everything and feels like a very large void.

Emma assumes this is what a black hole sounds like – yanking and tugging, trying to swallow up everything in its path and hold onto it until they’re all twisted and flattened. It’s the worst, really. She should have paid more attention in science.

“Enough,” the Darkness says. He doesn’t shout that time. The words are almost calm, except for the acid practically dripping off them. “Enough.” Emma shakes her head. “No, no, that’s—oh my God.” The shaking stops suddenly, quick enough that it’s almost jarring and the whiplash of everything is absolutely exhausting. Emma’s smile feels more unnatural than ever.

“What are we missing?” Ruby asks. “I feel like we’re missing something big. And bad. Like decidedly bad.” “The worst, if I’m right.” “Well go ahead and share with the class, that’s PI’ing one-oh-one.”

Emma’s laugh feels more unnatural than her laugh. She waves her hand, a flush of power that doesn’t quite tickle but feels warm and confident and the lights that are hanging around the Darkness flare to life. There are several curses from several different people mumbled behind her, maybe even a few of the goons.

She’d kind of forgotten about the goons.

Emma has to wiggle her fingers – the ones not still tied up with Ruby’s – trying to focus the power she can feel simmering in the pit of her stomach She bobs on the balls of her feet, hoping the sound crackling at the ends of her hair isn’t actually electricity.

That would be almost too normal, though. It’s not electricity, it’s magic and strength and light, a positivity that may be misplaced, but is also necessary and Emma’s neck aches when she twists around and the scene behind her hasn’t changed. There’s still a dead body she wishes weren’t dead behind her, but that same body promised more than she’d ever expected to hear and she meant every single she’d told him in the last few days.

And then some.

Because he’d come back too.

She knows exactly what the Darkness did to his magic.

“How did you kill him?” Emma asks, letting her fingers press into the back of Ruby’s palm. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Killed your son thinking it would help your magic grow?”

Ruby sounds as if she’s choking. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the absolute worst thing, were you?” Emma shrugs. And the Darkness looks like he’s turned into a statue. He doesn’t move any of his limbs, still as marble and rough as something more abrasive than marble and Emma really needs to remember something about rudimentary science.

He makes plenty of noise though – a low grumble in the back of his throat that is probably meant to be menacing, but Emma’s run the gamut of feelings and she’s tired of being scared. She’s positive she’s right.

“How did you imagine that would work?” Emma presses. “Did you just—I mean, did you just kill him? Like, I don’t know, what happens in mythical times? Was there a sword involved?” Ruby scoffs. “Maybe a lance? That’s properly ancient, right? Oh shit, Dark One, were you a knight at some point?” “No, no,” Shakespeare argues. “That can’t possibly be right. Knights are always pure of heart.” “Or so the stories would have us believe,” Nemo adds, and the whole thing is equal parts absurd and nice and Emma’s fingers are still almost vibrating with the force of her magic.

The Darkness doesn’t move.

“How did you kill him?” Emma asks. “It must have been something bad if it helped you twist your magic like that.”

She does her best to stay patient, waiting for a response or an explanation that won’t make her skin crawl. That feels a bit like wishful thinking though and the Darkness’ laugh starts out quiet.

That doesn’t last long.

It grows louder – manic and grating as he steps back into Emma’s space. She blinks, trying to block out the shadows at the edge of her vision and Ruby mumbles something that tries to be encouraging. Or a few more pirate-themed curses.

“You said true love liked to linger in certain places didn’t you?” Emma presses. “That it takes root and grows and—oh my God, his heart. Your son's heart!” No answer. Again.

Emma’s pulse thunders in her veins, certainty she doesn’t want and confidence she desperately needs. “I don’t--I don't think I understand how that works. Ok, so…” She glances back at Ruby, a distinct lack of color in her partner’s face. “Do you think he ate it? Like..a vampire? Blood power or—” “—Blood magic is a thing,” Shakespeare says, like it’s fact and Emma’s teetering on the edge of insanity again.

Ruby shakes her head. “No, no, it’s got to be something other than. And you’ve got to keep thinking positive thoughts, Em. I think your magic’s keeping him contained for now.” Emma hums in confusion and her neck is not going to be able to stand up to much more of this. She snaps back around – the Darkness twisted slightly, arm lifted like he was getting ready to do something particularly nefarious, but the pinpricks of light around him have multiplied and they’re brighter or stronger and Emma squeezes her hand again.

For reassurance. Or magic. Or whatever.

“Ok, ok, so let’s rule out blood magic,” Emma continues. “Did you think you had True Love? Is that what it was? You were looking for True Love, trying to grow your magic, get stronger and—oh, so you thought you could take his heart! Your son’s heart? How does that—shit, how does that even work?” “You could do it too, Savior,” the Darkness says. His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper or a whimper. His eyes, however, are strong as ever, dark and menacing despite the light lingering just over the edge of his shoulder. “It’s basic magic. I explained to Bae. Told him I’d be able to right it once I was strong enough, but I needed that emotion. I needed his belief. That I could do something. That I could be more.”

Emma does her best to process that, but she’s a normal human and this still makes less than any sense. Until. “Oh shit,” she chokes out. “You tried to pull his love for you...out of him? Oh my God, oh my God. That’s...that’s barbaric.” “It was a price, Savior. And one I was willing to pay.” “But it didn’t work!” “Yet. It didn’t work yet. That’s where you come in.” “It’s because it wasn’t True Love,” Nemo says suddenly. Emma will have to employ a personal chiropractor by the end of all this. “Was it? You thought, well, you explained it. You’d been looking for True Love for a very long time. Because you gave up your son to be stronger. You thought you’d be able to cheat the system. That’s not how it works. The world fought back against you.”

The scream the Darkness lets out is not human. And, really, that makes sense because Emma is beginning to think the Darkness isn’t very human anymore.

He’s the lack of all of that – empathy and understanding and love. Above everything else, he’s distinctly lacking in love. And the thought makes Emma shake slightly, the pity she feels rippling through every inch of her decidedly misplaced, all things considered.

She can’t help it. She pities the thing in front of her, can’t understand the thought process that led him to this moment. And she knows what she’s got to do.

He can’t be there anymore.

Because he won’t stop. He’ll wait and he’ll find someone else and—

“You overestimated your own power didn’t you?” Emma asks conversationally, flashing a smile Ruby’s direction when she tugs her hand back to her side. “You take your son’s heart. You grow your magic and twist and it and become something...else, something you’re certain will make you more powerful. But it didn’t, did it? It just made you,” she shrugs, impossibly casual with far too many dead bodies nearby, “lonely. That’s what you are. You’re lonely and you’re desperate. And I’m not anymore.” Someone whoops.

It’s definitely Ruby. Emma grins.

“Did you think you’d be able to use your own True Love to bring him back?” Emma mutters, and she’s pacing now, drifting back towards Killian like there are those same magnets involved. God, she hopes so.

She doesn’t want that to disappear.

The magic in her veins practically sings, roaring to life and making Emma’s hair shift slightly on her shoulders – life in every inch of her. The irony of it all is almost palpable.

“It should have,” the Darkness whispers. “I paid the price. I gave up my son for my power and he—he understood.” “You’ll need to practice that again if you want to make it sound believable.” “He did!” “Was he scared?” Emma asks, the tears on her cheeks not for her or what she’s lost. They’re for what everyone else has lost, the reach of the Darkness and the tendency of evil to, well, be evil. They’re regret and mistakes and every single secret any of them have ever kept. “When you tried to tell him it’d be worth it. That his sacrifice would mean something and he’d come back? Do you think he believed you?” The Darkness exhales, head falling forward. “He knew. He knew what it would take.” “Did you?” Her question hangs there – the crux of it all and the turning point and Emma wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. The magic there is warm against her cheek.

“You couldn’t have, could you? To know what the price really would be. To understand what you’d be giving into. I do, though, and I’m not giving into it. I’m not—I won’t go with you and I won’t help you. This is...you’ve twisted and turned things and ruined lives, but nothing has been as bad as what you’ve done to yourself.”

She takes a deep breath, shaking her arms at her side. The magic has its own pulse now, twisting in between her fingers and lingering at the back of her heels. It’s almost excited, ready to do what it was meant to from the very beginning and Emma doesn’t turn when she hears the grunts behind her.

She doesn’t take her eyes away from the Darkness.

Emma steps forward, the man in front of her shaking under the weight of her gaze and the light around him. She smiles.

“You have to realize that,” she says. “You’ve stumbled into your own hole. Dug your own grave. All of that. Every cliché either one of us could possibly come up with. How long has it been since you’ve believed in something? It must be a lifetime. Sounds depressing.” “You would know, Savior. All those could have beens. You’ve pushed people away with both hands, so certain you’re wrong. That you don’t deserve it.” "That’s true. I...I did. I ran and ran and was positive I shouldn’t have been the way that I am. But that doesn’t change anything. Because I never really forgot and I’ve never—listen, it’s one of those clichés isn’t it? I don’t want the world, but I’ll be damned if you get it.”

The Darkness sneers, teeth bare and the growl in the back of his throat is probably supposed to sound menacing. That kind of misses the mark when it only makes Emma laugh.

She shakes her head, another step forward and the light sitting in the palm of her hand when she snaps her wrist is a pleasant surprise.

“Huh,” she says, glancing back at Ruby. “That’s a surprise.” “It’s impressive,” Ruby nods. “What are you going to do with it? Oh, oh, can we throw it at the bad guy’s face?” “Seems to make us kind of like the bad guy, doesn’t it?” “Eh, he did threaten to control you and your magic and try to take over the entire universe so he could get his dead kid back, so you know—” “—And he killed our kid,” Shakespeare adds. “More than once. Seems like plenty of reason to destroy him.” Emma shakes her head again – although something very particular happens to a variety of her internal organs at our kid. The light in her hand grows brighter, a groan from the Darkness that is, quite obviously, because of it.

“That’s kind of interesting, isn’t it?" Emma muses. "You don’t…” She brandishes her hand, the Darkness stumbling backwards to try and avoid it. “Well, that answers that question. I’d rather not destroy you. I don’t—I’ve had this power my whole life. The life and the death and the magic, but I’ve never wanted it. And I’ve never wanted to alter the universe, but it’s got to be more than that, isn’t it? Because you do.

“You want to change things and ignore the balance of it all and the Universe kind of hates that. I can feel it. How much it rejects you and detests you. And you know it. That’s why it’s twisted you around like this. And that’s why I’m here. To stop you. I can. I can keep it all balanced.”

Emma flips her wrists again, working on instinct and whatever magic operates on. The light around her surges – as if several electric fields have exploded and the noise is almost overwhelming.

It takes everything in her to stay upright, gulping in breaths of air. Everything feels warm and bright and, at first, Emma can’t figure out what that sound is. She wishes she didn’t as soon as she realizes what it is.

The Darkness has fallen to his knees, prostrated on the floor with his hands wrapped over his head. He’s shaking like several metaphorical leaves, nails digging into the hair that suddenly looks like it’s producing its own grease.

Or letting go of its magic.

That makes a little bit more sense.

In a moment that makes absolutely no sense.

“What the—” Emma starts, wavering between moving towards him and sprinting away. The chair behind her scrapes when Ruby moves it, pushing off several goons to tug Emma back to her side. “That’s gross. Did I—” “I don’t think so, Em,” Ruby mutters. She can’t quite mask the fear in her voice though. “You’ve got to keep going. It’s...the light and the, oh shit—” “—Oh God, I’ve got to touch him, don’t I?” “You’re a really good PI now.” Emma lets out a watery laugh and she doesn’t know if the tears on her cheek are new or have, simply, just lingered there. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes.” “Hey, if you got away with flirting at crime scenes, then I can certainly make some jokes. Give and take or whatever.” “Yeah, whatever,” Emma mumbles. The Darkness is still groaning, wincing every time a ray of light graces over him.

“It was stupid how obviously in love with you he was.” Emma’s eyes fly into her hairline. “Is that emotion, I hear?” “And, probably, what you need to save the world. He knew what he was doing, Em. And he did it anyway. So did you. Honestly. I was super pissed about it—” “—Are we seriously doing this now?” “I mean we wouldn’t be if you stopped interrupting me,” Ruby reasons. “I think we’ve got time. Your light or inherent goodness or whatever is taking care of things for a second. What I’m getting at is you both knew what you were doing when you made your choices. Not like our resident villain here.” Emma doesn’t want to argue. She isn’t sure if she’s even got time to argue, but—”That’s not entirely true,” she says. “I...the whole thing was so unbelievably selfish. I knew what would happen if I kept Killian alive and I couldn’t—” She has to swallow, blinking back tears and greed in equal measure. “It didn’t make sense for him to be dead.” “Has it occurred to you that he wasn’t supposed to be at that point?” “What?”

Ruby clicks her tongue, kicking back when a goon tries to lunge towards them. “We had to figure out what was going on with him. Who hired him and why they’d killed him and what they were trying to do. You keeping Jones alive led you right here. To this moment. Defeating ultimate evil and saving the world.” Emma’s jaw drops. It’s kind of lame, honestly. And Ruby’s grin has a distinctly wolfish tinge to it.

“I’m very good at what I do,” she shrugs. “You weren’t trying to take over the world, Em. You could have. This entire time. You could have played God and—shit, what did the Dark One say?” “Changed the fates of the world,” Nemo supplies, standing as well and shoving a goon back into the corner of the room. “You never did, Emma. You only ever loved. He knew you loved him. Even when he didn’t want to remember it.” “And he never really wanted to forget it,” Shakespeare smiles. “I’d imagine that’s how True Love is supposed to work.”

Emma hums – not sure what’s happening to, possibly, her entire soul, but it kind of feels like flying or what she’d always imagined flying would be. Or, more specifically, it feels like racing down the hill, wind in her hair and a smile on her face and she doesn’t lick her lips before turning back towards the Darkness.

He looks lesser, somehow, like he’s falling into himself or that black hole she’d been considering before. There’s still a slight tremor to him, sobs shaking their way out of him and one of his hands has started fisting the carpet underneath him.

The sweat at his temple isn’t that. Emma knows it. It’s power, falling off him in waves and several other water-based metaphors.

Crouching down, Emma’s hand lingers in the air in front of her. There’s still a light hanging around her, as if she really is phosphorescent, but the magic in her feels as if it’s settled slightly, accepted its job and its purpose and the Darkness audibly winces when she shifts on her heels.

“You can’t do this anymore,” Emma says, a note of sadness in her voice. “You can’t be this anymore. It’s not...it’s not right. And it never was. It was never going to work.” He groans when he tries to lift his head, like the weight of it is suddenly more than he can bear. Emma can barely make out his eyes, but there’s a hint of something in his gaze that is clinging on – a tinge of yellow and a dash of hatred and she’s not entirely surprised when he snaps his jaws at her.

Like the goddamn crocodile.

“No,” Emma says. “It’s not going to work. I was never going to go with you. No matter what you’d done or who you took. Because they’ve never really been gone. They never forgot. And neither had I. Even when I wanted to. Even when I thought I had to. So you can’t stay here. The world won’t accept it.”

She exhales slowly, fighting the urge to close her eyes as she reaches her hand forward. The Darkness’ skin is clammy under her touch, magic pooling under his clothes and at the curve of his chin. Emma holds her breath, doing her best to push her own magic out the tips of her fingers and the light that surges out of her is almost blinding.

It takes forever and happens far too quickly, another contradiction that makes perfect sense. And the Darkness doesn’t scream. He doesn’t make any noise. But his gaze meets Emma, the yellow fading and the emotion disappearing and he seems to deflate in front of her – as if he’s a balloon that’s been popped or a line of milk bottles that have been knocked over.

His eyes close.

Emma counts to ten in her head, only a little worried that something is going to sneak up on her or inform her that she’s got to do something else. She counts to twenty. And thirty-five. There’s nothing. There’s only light and, now, three dead bodies and the magic thrumming in her veins.

The floor creaks when Ruby moves, the hand that lands on Emma’s shoulder nearly on the wrong side of too tight.

“So, uh,” she starts. “What happens now?” “I have absolutely no idea,” Emma answers honestly, and the laugh she’s met with sounds decidedly out of place.

Particularly when the house starts to shake again.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Shakespeare groans, Emma scrambling back to her feet and thrusting her hands out in front of her.

There’s no darkness though, no trace of shadows, just more light and something that smells like triple berry pie. Something that smells like home. And love.

And the faces that appear in front of Emma’s eye line are familiar and not, corporal and not and, eventually, she’d love if something were just simple. She assumes dealing with ghosts can’t ever be simple. She hopes ghosts isn’t an offensive term.

“Whoa,” Ruby mutters.

Emma rolls her shoulder, trying to get Ruby’s hand off and it absolutely does not work. If anything she holds on tighter. Maybe ghosts is the right term. “Are you seeing this?” Emma asks brusquely. “I’m not actually going crazy?” “If you’re asking me if I’m seeing the three people who just teleported into this living room, then, uh...yeah, we may both be crazy.”

“Oh ok, good good. It’d be weird if we saved the world and then I was the only one who immediately went crazy.” “Seems like it’d be a jerk move by the world.” The woman with the pixie cut and a cardigan that looks incredibly soft shakes her head. The man is smiling. And the other women – Emma can’t quite bring herself to look at the other woman, not sure what she’ll do if she does. Probably collapse on the floor. And sob.

For days. On end.

And she isn’t entirely surprised when the other woman speaks first.

“You’re not crazy, Emma,” Ingrid says. “The opposite, in fact.” “What’s the opposite of crazy?” “This isn’t all in your head, sweetheart. It’s not a dream. It’s very much real life and you very much just saved the world.” “Although some of it was a dream,” the man adds softly, moving closer to her and the air doesn’t turn cold the way Emma expects it to. If anything, it warms slightly, like she’s been wrapped in a blanket and tucked into bed after eating her weight in pie and a variety of other baked goods. “It was the only way we could figure out to help. Not always easy to cross the planes like that, but you helped.” Emma blinks. “What?” “Helped,” the dark-haired woman says. “Always. That’s—that’s what your magic is, Emma. It existed across the planes of reality, could criss-cross and move with ease. It drew us to you when you needed us.”

“And who...who exactly are you?” “I think you’ve figured that already.” “Yeah, that’s kind of why I think I’m crazy.” Ingrid laughs, the smile on her face making her eyes crinkle slightly and she doesn’t look any different than she did the last time Emma saw her. “I wouldn’t, would I?” she asks, a response to a question Emma hasn’t voiced. Or can’t. Probably the second one. “We’ve been waiting, Emma. Hoping and believing and trying so hard to be there when you needed it. The restaurant is gorgeous, by the way. Although you could probably use some more help on the waitstaff.” “I’ve been a little busy.” “That wasn’t a suggestion to take out a classified ad.” “Are you speaking in code?” Emma quips, entirely out of place sarcasm that Ingrid seems entirely prepared for.

The dark-haired woman shakes her head again. “You could do it, Emma. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It got all twisted and turned and you’ve unknotted most of it. This is the last part of the puzzle.” Emma considers that for a moment – eyes flashing back to the man behind her and the pang she feels in her chest doesn’t feel entirely magical. It feels like want and need and a slew of other words she’d done her best to avoid most of her adult life.

It feels like...everything.

“It’s not greedy, sweetheart,” the man says, ducking into her eye line and ghosting his fingers over her cheek. That’s the wrong word. She can almost feel it. She wants to feel it. “You’re allowed to love. Encouraged even.” “And you always loved that boy,” Ingrid adds. Her eyes flit towards a clearly stunned Shakespeare and Nemo. “Took forever to get her come home every night.” “You get to be happy, Emma,” the dark-haired woman continues, and for half a second Emma lets herself think that other word and quasi titles and then it’s all her brain can latch onto.

Mom and Dad and Ingrid and a family she’d never forgotten about. Even when she wanted to.

Her mother smiles at her.

It may be the nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. Until. Her mother takes another step forward, something shimmering at the edge of her and Emma gasps when she feels the hand that lands on her cheek.

It’s warm.

“We’ve always loved you,” she whispered. “That’s not going to change. But you’re not alone anymore either, Emma. You don’t have to be.”

Emma’s exhale shakes its way out of her, head falling forward onto something incredibly and impossibly solid. She has no idea how she stands there, but there’s more movement and a hand on the back of her head, Ingrid’s fingers rubbing and down Emma’s spine the same way they had when she was seven and broke her wrist falling off the monkey bars at school.

“You can do it, Emma,” her father promises.

“Ghost-dad is definitely right,” Ruby adds, drawing several stunned expressions from people who are both alive and not. She rolls her eyes. “Oh, what? He says it and it’s supportive and I say it and suddenly it’s not cool? That’s lame.” Emma makes a ridiculous noise – scratchy in her throat, but the emotion lingering in the back corners of her brain is definitely hope and her parents are still smiling at her.

Her parents are still smiling at her.

“Emma,” Shakespeare whispers, eyes red with tears and some more that haven’t fallen yet. “Please. If you—please try.” She shakes her head slowly, tugging her lip behind her teeth. “I don’t...how can I do that? The rules were always second touch death. Forever. I mean—” Emma turns to Ingrid. “I wasn’t ever trying to—” “I know,” she interrupts. “I’ve always known that Emma. So answer me one question, do you?” “Do I what?” Ruby sticks her whole tongue out when she gags. “Are you kidding me? This is basic, fundamental love stuff!” “Lording facts over people when you’re trying to control the situation,” Emma mumbles. “That’s still incredibly unhelpful.” “Oh my God, kiss the dead guy!’

“Wow, that’s not exactly subtle, was it?” Emma’s father asks, drawing a laugh out of her mother and this is ridiculous. The Darkness and his son are still on the floor.

Ruby clicks her tongue. “In case you haven’t noticed, subtlety is not exactly my strong suit. Emma, we are wasting time here. That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’ve got to True Loves kiss him!” Emma is sure there is a reason that won’t work. She’s positive.

Because this is the real world and she owns a pie restaurant that she will, eventually, have to open and they are normal people with normal wants and normal desires and—

“Oh damn, that makes total sense,” Emma says, not quite grumbling her agreement because she’s not sure she wants anything more than to kiss Killian Jones. She takes another absurdly large breath, nodding once, twice, and again until her hair threatens to find its way into her own mouth. “Yeah, ok.” “You can do it, Emma,” Ingrid says. “That’s what your magic is. Light and hope. And everything good in the world.” “Sounds kind of like a Hallmark card.” “Or happily ever after.” “Is that how it’s going to work?” “Only one way to find out.”

Emma chuckles – a bit of cynicism hanging on, but she moves anyway, dropping to her knees next to Killian. The whole thing is absurdly fairy tale, even with unforgiving wood under her knees. She brushes the hair away from his forehead, a measured movement that belies how hard her heart is hammering against her rib cage.

Everything seems to still for a moment, the only sound Emma’s breathing.

She licks her lips. And not for any other reason except some possibly misplaced vanity. It seems wrong to kiss her True Love with chapped lips.

Emma leans forward slowly, careful not to rest too much of her weight on Killian, but she can’t help the hand that rests on his chest. She wants to feel all of him. She wants all of him. Full stop.

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips lightly to his.

She doesn’t push at first, just lets herself linger in his space and around him, lets everything wrap around her and work into her and the magic that’s just worked so hard to save the entire universe roars to life in between Emma’s ears.

And that’s all it takes.

It’s like hearing a light switch on. Or walking back into a familiar space. It’s like coming home.

There’s a flash and a pull in the very center of her and Emma knows. She feels it.

Emma grunts when Killian shifts, trying to sit up or stand up and none of it works because she's still got her hand digging into him. So he gets creative. And eventually she’ll have to tell him how much she appreciates that.

His left arm wraps around her middle, twisting her and tugging her flush against his chest. His other hand flies into her hair, fingers carding through strands and wrapping around her neck, making sure Emma can’t pull away from his mouth.

As if she would.

Killian’s tongue brushes over her lower lip, Emma’s mouth opening against him. He makes a noise at that, a sound she’s already filed away for moments when it feels as if everything else is impossible and dark and not getting her hands on him suddenly seems like the most ridiculous thing she could ever be doing.

Emma shifts, slinging her leg over Killian until she’s more or less straddling him and the propriety of True Love's kiss is a lesson she’s never bothered learning. She pushes her fingers into his hair, nails scraping lightly against the back of his head and rocking against him as if there’s an actual tide involved. There’s far too much skin and Emma briefly wishes she had more limbs to touch all of it, but then her only thought is about whatever Killian does against the side of her neck, mouth dropping down to press kisses there as well.

She may honestly shiver.

They don’t stop for what feels like several lifetimes – and Emma isn’t sure she’ll ever argue that because it’s everything she thought it would be and even more. He’s so goddamn warm under her, alive and meeting her kiss for kiss, move for move and—

“Is this real?” Killian asks gruffly.

Emma leans back, the hand against her skin making her wonder just how hard it is to actually teleport two human beings who are absolutely wearing too much clothing. She nods. “Yeah. Really real.” He kisses her again. And it’s not the same as it was before. It’s harder and heady and some other word that’s a synonym of those words and Emma groans against him, more movement and another rock and if they don’t leave soon—

“I heard you,” Killian says, mumbling the words against her mouth. “I was...where was I?” Emma glances around – as if the quasi ghosts behind her will explain something else, but there’s nothing there and no other bodies. Her jaw drops. “Gone as soon as you guys started—” Ruby explains, waving both her hands awkwardly in front of her. “Super psyched you’re not dead forever, Jones.” “Yeah, me too. Swan,” he continues, nosing at her cheek and she hopes he never stops touching her. “I heard you, love. I was—everything was dark, but I wasn’t...it wasn’t bad. It was..” She can see the muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, teeth digging into his lip and Emma doesn’t think much before brushing her thumb over it. “Liam was there.” She’s very glad she’s sitting down.

Killian smiles, quick enough that Emma wonders if she imagines it, but he kisses the edge of her chin and maybe that’s better. “He wouldn’t let me leave. Kept trying to talk to me and get me to remember things. Stuff we’d done when we were kids and—” He cuts himself off, presumably when Emma’s jaw cracks. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Oh—I get it. I...it was all of them. Because, oh my God.” “Share with the class,” Ruby mumbles. She’s dropped onto the floor as well, sitting cross-legged with her back pressed against Nemo’s bent legs.

“True Love is a two-way street. And that’s what, that’s what my parents—” “—Wait, what?” Killian interrupts sharply, Ruby waving a frustrated hand towards him.

“You can get caught up later. This, oh shit, Em, this makes sense.”

Emma hums, eyebrows lifted because, well, it does. “They said my magic could cross planes, draw them to me when I needed them. So it did for Killian too. It kept him from—I don’t know, moving on and helped me remember what was good and important and real and, oh do you think my magic knew it could bring him back?” “At this point, I am not surprised by anything, honestly.” “Yeah, me either,” Emma agrees. She’s balanced on Killian’s thighs now, the fingers in his hair moving without realizing as he ducks his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. “I um,” she mumbles. “I am—did Liam, say anything…” Killian shakes his head. “Not in the way that you’d think. He told me he was proud of me. That he knew what I could do and that I had to stop waiting for him to come back.” “I’m so sorry.” “I know you are, love. And so did Liam. It was never your fault.” “But—” “—No, Emma. It’s...I am here because of you, twice over. And, well, if that worked both ways then that’s enough. I heard you.” “I don’t understand what that means.” “I wanted to go. I kept telling Liam I was tired and it was over and he wouldn’t let me. Stubborn git.” Emma’s laugh gets muffled when she buries her face against Killian’s neck, but there are more kisses pressed to the top of her hair and fingers drifting under the edge of her shirt and she smiles against his skin. “Anyway,” Killian continues. “He wouldn’t let me leave. Told me there was more to it and just to stay patient and that’s when I heard you. You told me you loved me and I could—I could feel it, Emma. You’re a much better kisser now than when you were nine.”

She laughs again. And cries. And slings her arms around Killian, all but slamming her lips against his. He doesn’t argue.

She hadn’t really expected him to.

“I love you too,” Killian says, more words pressed against her cheek and the bridge of her nose and if they never get off the floor, Emma won’t argue. He kisses her like he’s following a map, doing his best to cover as much of her face as possible while his fingers dance over the curve of her waist.

“Do you want to go eat some pie or something?” Emma asks. “Maybe, you know...live happily ever after?” Killian beams. “I’d like nothing better.”

They do, eventually, get off the floor, but Emma can’t seem to bring herself to move more than a few inches away from Killian. He keeps squeezing her hand, an arm around her shoulders and kisses pressed wherever he can reach.

It makes Ruby gag, but Nemo and Shakespeare look torn somewhere between understandably overwhelmed and surprisingly approving and Killian apologizes to them, no less, than forty-six times. They hug him for, at least, forty-six seconds straight.

Ruby offers to get them a hotel.

“We’ll use some of Cora’s reward money,” she shrugs, a flash of a smile and more hugs and a copious amount of pie. “And, uh, I don’t want yours, either.”

They hug her in response.

And do leave eventually – laden down with pies because Emma’s rid the world of inherent darkness, but she also feels kind of guilty about turning their house into some kind of murder hot bed – leaving Emma and Killian sitting in the middle of her restaurant with the chance at everything hanging in between them.

“I feel like my eyes are kind of rolling back into my head,” Emma says, always a picture of charm. “So, uh—” “—Let’s go to sleep, Swan.” She nods, not trusting herself to say anything else. They move slowly, lingering on steps with kisses that last lifetimes and it’s still not enough, but Emma is more than a little greedy, tugging on shirts and brushing over stubble and Killian’s tongue should win awards.

Emma doesn’t say that out loud. That would probably ruin the moment.

And she wants the moment – wants to linger in it and put down roots and several thousand vaguely romantic clichés. So she doesn’t say anything, just kicks her door closed behind her and tries not to actually gasp too loudly when Killian tugs his shirt off.

“You’re staring, love,” Killian mutters, a note of nerves that make no sense. And Emma saw ghosts a few hours before.

“What’s the matter?” “Nothing.” “Nuh uh, try again.” “I was dead earlier today, you know.” “Yeah, I was there,” Emma mutters, doing her best to keep her voice even. It doesn’t work, obvious as soon as Killian’s thumb tucks under her chin. “I’ve missed you so much. This whole time...I wondered and I—” “—I know, Swan.” “Then what…” And she’s a little annoyed she didn’t realize before, disappointed in herself and her own wants. “Oh, Killian,” she mumbles, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “I don’t...come here.” He doesn’t, in fact, come here. If anything, he tenses – eyes wide and a little guarded, but still ridiculously blue and Emma is certain she could willingly lose herself in them. She’s apparently a sentimental sap now.

Her fingers don’t shake when they wrap around the end of his left arm, although he may just a bit, his quiet contradiction barely audible. That lasts as long as it takes for her to lift him to her mouth, pressing soft kisses to the blunted edge and the distinct lack of scars.

There’s an apology in every movement and a promise in every shift, guarantees that it’s fine and what she wants and who she wants. Indefinitely. Since the very start.

“Your skin is so soft,” Killian whispers.

“Were you thinking about the texture of my skin?” “Well...no, ah, maybe. Mostly in the way that I wondered what it would feel like to touch you. Or hold onto you. In another way that sounds less possessive than that.”

Emma scoffs, biting back a smile. “I don’t think that sounds possessive.” “Good since I was definitely aiming for more romantic. It would probably be a pretty bad set up to asking you out if you thought it wasn’t.”

“I am ridiculously in love with you,” she says, drawing a laugh out of Killian. The tears on his cheeks are out of place in a day like this, but Emma’s on some kind of roll and she relishes the salt on her tongue when she kisses them away.

“Ridiculously, huh?” “At least. And I could be very interested in dating you. Or just...staying in bed forever.”

“At least a few days.” “Something about science experiments with my skin.”

He laughs – loud and easy and it presses against Emma like it’s marking her from the inside out. There are more kisses, ones that stretch out forever and others that are nothing more than quick presses of lips to any bit of skin available and she does her best not to melt in her own foyer when Killian’s teeth graze behind her ear. “I’d do it again,” he says, a quiet admission that makes Emma’s breath catch. “Let’s not, huh?” “We might be kind of busy for that anyway.” “That so?” “Do you not think we are?”

They’re moving, drifting back towards the bedroom at the end of the hall and Emma is dimly aware of the button on her jeans popping. “I’d be willing to be almost confident about it.” “Ah, sounds like a challenge.” “Yeah, well that’s because you’re a competitive weirdo.” Killian hums, more walking and stumbling and kissing. The last one is the most important. “One who loves you a ridiculous amount too,” he says. “And has very lofty goals of kissing every single inch of you.” “I’d like to see you try.” He grins – hers, exactly the way she’d always pictured it. “I can guarantee it.”

They bake pies every day. And fill napkin containers. And balance books.

It’s domestic and wonderful and Emma kisses Killian in several different kitchens with a regularity that never fails to make her pulse sputter just a bit. It goes that way for weeks that turn to months that turn to years and Emma Swan is thirty-one years, two months, fifty-seven days and, approximately, nine and a half hours old when he kisses her back – while the front door to their restaurant swings open.

“I’ve got news,” Ruby shouts, heels echoing on the tiled floor under her. “So if you guys are done being adorable, it might be time to make some money.” Killian shifts, tugging Emma against his chest. “What do you think, love? Do we want to make some money?” “Ah, I don’t know,” Emma says, if only to get that very particular groan out of Ruby. “Depends on the facts, I guess.”

Ruby does, in fact, make that very particular groan, grabbing a slice of pie without asking for it. “The usual. Dead body, suspicious circumstances, in need of your particular skills with the chance to let justice be served. Also we got to do this quick because I’ve got a date.” “What?” “This is not a big deal. Do not make this a big deal.” “You brought it up, Lucas,” Killian points out.

“Her name is Dorothy. She’s a dog trainer. It is not a big deal. I just, you know…” “You wanted to tell us.” “Shut up, Jones.” “Oh, that’s nice,” Emma says, handing Ruby the fork she can’t quite reach with the counter in the way. “Alright, we’re in. Let’s go serve some justice.” Ruby rolls her eyes. “You’re hysterical.” “You say that like you don’t think I am.”

“Yuh huh, yuh huh. Time keeps on slipping or whatever.” Emma laughs, grabbing a handful of berries from the nearest bowl and they don’t use rotten fruit anymore. It’s some kind of step in the right direction thing. They definitely helped set Graham up with that one customer a few months before.

And no one argues when they get into Emma’s car – Ruby in the backseat and already on her phone with Victor, Killian’s eyes flitting Emma’s direction as soon as she turns the key in the ignition. “You ready, love?” he asks, lacing his fingers through hers.

Emma nods. “Always.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #one foot in #it's been a d a y #in an underlined sort of way #like professionally speaking #so i totally forgot it was wednesday until just now #if you've read this it means the world #thanks for being legit internet

49 notes · View notes

donteattheappleshook · 4 years ago

Text

Playacting

~*~

This fic was written as a thank you to @darkcolinodonorgasm for tainting her screen with Neal's face to make an amazing gif for me that sadly won’t load now.

Summary:

Emma has finally left her awful boyfriend after nearly a decade. But when he makes her meet him in a bar to pick up the last of her stuff, she risks falling victim to his usual tactics of sending her crawling back to him. Thankfully, the handsome bartender is there to lend a hand. A fake-boyfriend AU. Heavily Anti-Neal so don't read if that's not your thing.

Read it on Ao3

~*~

Emma sits down heavily on the stool, her elbow landing on the bartop as she lays her chin in her hand, exasperated. Stupid fucking Neal. It’s just like him really, making her come here to meet him after everything he’d made her put up with for the last ten years. Finally, finally she’d worked up the nerve to leave him, to say enough was enough and convince herself she deserved better and then of course as soon as she walks out for good, he finds a way to drag her back, to make him face her one more time.

She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. She hadn’t known any better in the beginning. She was seventeen and he was twenty five and she thought it was so cool that someone so mature wanted to be with her. She thought that had to mean she was mature as well. It wasn’t until much later, when half a decade had passed, that she realised how messed up it was… but by then they’d been together five years and he was her whole life. Nearly all her friends were his friends, they lived in his apartment… she can’t believe she stuck it out another five years after that.

You can do this, she tells herself. You’ve already done the hard part. You left and nothing he can say will make you come back. But still, she steels herself for what will undoubtedly be an excruciatingly unpleasant interaction. Neal is just… he’s just so good at making her feel worthless, at breaking her down and chipping away at the little things he knows she’s self-conscious about until there’s nothing left and she just feels small and broken. She clenches her fists, staying her nerves and bracing herself. Not anymore though. Because you left and you just have to see his stupid face one more time and then it’s over. It’s just words.

She jumps as a glass is set down in front of her and looks up to see a somewhat familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes looking back at her. The bartender. The handsome one. She’s seen him around before. She’s come to the bar fairly often over the last year or so and he seems to work most nights. She likes him, well, as much as you can like a stranger who pours you drinks all night. He’s always nice and friendly and extremely polite and he doesn’t hit on her the way most bartenders do. She’d never admit it, but sometimes it bothered her a little that he didn’t. She can’t quite remember his name, having never had a real conversation with him, and she stares at the drink in front of her, raising a suspicious brow at him.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know, but you look like you could use it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, scowling. She’s already having a shit day, she doesn’t need some bartender trying to analyze her and telling her she looks as terrible as she feels. He doesn’t even bother to look embarrassed. Instead, he crosses his arms on the bartop, leaning on his elbows.

“It means, you look sad.” He tilts his head then, scrutinizing her face. “Or angry,” he adds. “And you look like you could use a drink.”

Emma wants to glare at him a little longer but his tone is light. There’s no judgement or pity on his face, just a friendly offer of a drink, and she can’t quite bring herself to be annoyed. And besides, he did guess her drink right. She reaches for her wallet and goes to pull out some cash but he waves her away.

“It’s on the house,” he tells her and honestly her night is going to be so terrible that she doesn’t have it in her to turn down a free glass of rum. She takes a sip, noting that it’s damn good rum, and tilts her cup to him in thanks. He smiles, a little smugly and a little mischievously, and leaves her, going back to whatever work it is he has to do.

A few minutes pass and Neal still hasn’t arrived. She glares at her watch. Of course he’d be late. He’d want to make her wait as long as possible so she’d have time to stew in her decision, both to leave him and to meet him. Her glass is nearly empty and she raps her fingers against the bartop rhythmically, waiting, bored, anxious, and impatient.

The bartender looks up briefly when she does and then goes back to his task. The bar is empty apart from the two of them so he doesn't have anyone to wait on. He’s counting something, concentrating quite seriously and she takes a moment to study him. Of course she’d noticed he was attractive before. It would have been impossible not to. But she hadn’t really let herself look, not properly. She was in a relationship after all. But you’re not now, she realises suddenly.

So she casts her eyes over him slowly, noting how soft his hair looks in contrast to the sharp angle of his jaw and the scruff that covers it, notices the muscles of his shoulders and his arms under the fitted black shirt he wears, the slightest bit of chest hair peeking out of the v of his collar.

When she looks back at his face again he’s biting his lip against a smirk and she wonders if she’s been caught looking. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t come over to try pick her up and so she turns back to her drink and to waiting. But she doesn’t last long. She’s never done well with waiting and her impatience grows until it spills out of her mouth in the form of small talk.

“So which is it?” she asks finally and he turns to look at her, a little surprised. He doesn’t quite seem to get her meaning. “Sad or angry. Which is it?”

“Ah,” he says, as understanding dawns on him and he walks back over, leaning against the bar and looking at her carefully. She tries not to react under his intense appraisal. “Both, I think.” Emma grumbles into her drink, annoyed that he’s read her so easily, and he laughs. “Although, perhaps the anger is my fault. Maybe I should have made your drink a double.”

Emma smirks around the rim of her glass and then sets it down. “Well, it’s never too late to make amends.”

He laughs again and grabs a bottle from the shelf behind him, refilling her drink. “So tell me, love, what brings you here tonight?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“It comes with the territory,” he shrugs. “Although people are usually much more forthcoming with their ails and secrets. You’re a bit of a puzzle, I’ll admit.” He smirks then, wicked and bright. “But I love a challenge.” Emma rolls her eyes.

“I’m meeting someone,” she says finally.

“I see. A first date?” he asks and she nearly chokes on her drink, coughing.

“God, no. Hopefully the last one.”

He raises a brow in interest. “Are you here to break up with someone? Should I have security on standby?”

She shakes her head. “No, that part’s already done. I left last week. But now the asshole is making me meet him here so that he can give me back the files I left behind and need for work.”

“You couldn’t just go pick them up?”

“I wish,” she frowns. “He put them in a bag and has been holding them hostage until I agreed to meet him.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Killian drawls sarcastically.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Bad breakup then?”

She nods. “Bad relationship."

“What sins is he guilty of?”

Emma laughs. “Take your pick. Lust, wrath, greed, pride. Throw a dart at any of the seven and you’ll hit something that sticks.”

“I’m sorry love,” he says and she shrugs. It’s not his fault. “So tell me something then, because I can’t quite seem to figure it out. Why are you so nervous to see him?” he asks and she looks at him in surprise. “You look like you can handle yourself and you’ve certainly got enough rage and fire under the surface to burn this whole bloody place to the ground. What is it?”

Emma catches her lip between her teeth, a little pleased at the compliment, at the suggestion that she looks like a badass, but the question hits hard. She’s been asking herself that for ten years. Why is Neal able to get under her skin so easily, to make her doubt herself and her worth?

“Neal,” she says finally and the bartender doesn’t push, just leans on the bartop, waiting, giving her time. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. We dated for ten years and he knows everything about me… and he knows exactly how to use it to make me feel like crap about myself, like if I didn’t have him I wouldn’t have anything, nobody else would want me.” And she can’t exactly prove him wrong considering she’s been faithful to his selfish ass for a decade, regardless of the fact that he had no problem showing her how many women wanted him.

Her hand tightens against her glass and for a moment she worries she might crush it but then the back of the bartender's fingers brush against her knuckles and she feels the anxiety and the hurt start to seep out, to dissipate at the warm touch. He’s not holding her hand, he’s barely moved his own across the space between them, nudged hers with it in a way that could almost be an accident. But when she looks up and meets his gaze she knows it’s not. And his next words confirm it.

“Believe me, I can guarantee you that’s not true.”

She swallows. “I just -” He waits again. “I just wish I hadn’t stuck it out so long, you know? I wasted ten years with the guy, all of my twenties. And that whole time he never wanted to get married, never wanted to make any commitments or promises, kept saying he didn't want to be tied down.” Didn’t want to be tied down to you, her memory supplies. “And I - Why am I telling you all this?” she asks herself suddenly and he smiles, letting out a little huff of a laugh.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s the bartender thing, people can’t help themselves.”

She doesn’t know if she believes him. She knows people like to treat bartenders like therapists but there’s something about him, an honesty and a sincerity that makes her believe he actually gives a shit about her and what she has to say, like he really cares about her troubles. But maybe everyone projects that onto the people plying them with alcohol.

“Well now you know my entire sad life and I don’t even know your name,” she says and he straightens, holding out his hand between them.

“Killian Jones.” She reaches out, shakes it, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Emma Swan.”

“I know,” he says and before she can question him he speaks again. “Now that we’re not strangers anymore, can I be candid?” She hesitates but only for a moment and then nods. “Your ex sounds like a complete and utter douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing, the sound of the insult on his tongue seeming wrong, not fitting his accent and the smooth, slightly rogeish way he carries himself.

And then, suddenly for some unfathomable reason, she catches herself doing what she always does: defending Neal. “It’s not all his fault,” she says, the words coming out automatically. “He had a really rough upbringing. His dad was never around and then he had to run away when he was really young and -” Killian cuts her off.

“That’s a really sad backstory,” he says. “But he's still a douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing. It’s almost manic, shocked and disbelieving to hear someone dismiss Neal’s history so flippantly, that story which had been used by her friends and his to defend and forgive every shitty thing he ever said or did to her. And now here Killian is, refusing it. Refusing the excuses and the justifications for treating her poorly.

As if on cue, the bell over the door jingles and Emma turns to see Neal walking in. Killian must know who he is by the way her whole body stiffens at the sight of him. But Neal hasn’t noticed them yet and Killian leans in.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his warm fingers against her arm. “You’ve got this.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the back room without another word and Emma tries no to take it to heart, not to let it feel like a dismissal. She thought they had something going there for a moment. She didn’t really know what, an understanding maybe, a connection, the kind she always thought she had with Neal but didn’t realise until now how wrong she was.

Before she can get too caught up in her disappointment, Neal sits down in front of her, setting the bag with her files on the bartop unceremoniously but keeping his hand on it. She goes to reach for it, hoping that maybe she can get through this whole interaction without having to exchange a single word with him, but as soon as she does, he drags it back towards himself, out of her reach. She glares at him.

“Give me the bag, Neal,” she sighs and he looks at her with that look she’s seen so many times, that look she hates, the patronizing, belittling look that makes her feel like someone to be pitied, someone worthless. She can feel her hands start to tremble and so she clenches them into fists. “Neal,” she says again when he doesn’t answer. “The bag.”

“Come on, Ems,” he says and it’s a long-suffering kind of thing, her name sounding exhausting, like more trouble than it’s worth, like she’s some toddler throwing a tantrum. “Can we stop this now? We both know you’re not leaving - why else would you have agreed to meet me here?”

“To get my files back,” she bites through gritted teeth. “I need them for work.” She was going to lose this skip if she didn’t get them back and he knew that.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave them behind so that you could find a reason to drag me out here and sit through your little charade of ‘woe is me’ until I agreed to take you back?”

“You made me come here,” she reminds him.

“Because I know you, Emma,” he says. “I know that you don’t want to do this. You’re pissed, I get it, whatever. But it’s time to get over it. You’ve made your point, time to come home.”

“I’m not coming home.”

“Yes you are. You always do.” When she doesn’t agree he sighs. “How many times have we done this? You’ll sleep on Ruby’s couch for a few days, stew in whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’ve done wrong, and then you’ll come home because you know as well as I do that we belong together, I’m it for you. What do you think you’re gonna do without me? You think you can support yourself just by chasing skips?”

“Yes,” she says but her voice wavers. Don’t let him get to you.

“Emma, enough, alright. I know you’re mad about that whole thing with that girl from work but it’s not really my fault.” They’ve had this fight before. She won’t do him the decency of asking him to explain what that means. But he does anyway. “Maybe if you weren’t always off trying to play superhero, coming back looking like a mess and acting like a dude I wouldn’t need to go find what I need somewhere else. I won’t do it again, okay? Not if you really try. But I’m not gonna put up with it again, you walking out.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says, refusing to take the bait and reaching for the bag again. He still holds it away.

“Do you really think you’re gonna find someone better?” he asks then, some anger creeping in. “You’re not going to find someone who treats you better than I have, Emma, not after everything I’ve had to put up with over the years. Nobody wants all that sad, lonely orphan baggage that you drag into the room with you.”

Emma can feel the tears burning her eyes and she knows he can see them too and she hates it. She hates how every word he says digs deeper, how carefully calculated and crafted his speech is to target all the things she dislikes about herself, all the things she knows push people away, all the reasons she knows she’ll probably be alone from now on. This is usually the moment when she breaks, changes her mind and comes back because the idea of being alone is far scarier than being with him.

She can feel herself weakening when a voice cuts through the silence of the nearly empty room. “Swan! Love, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

It takes her a moment to realise that it’s Killian talking, that he’s somehow managed to come through the doors from outside, a jacket thrown over his tshirt and his apron abandoned. She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing as he strides towards her but before she can finish saying his name he’s caught her face between his hands and captured her lips with his.

He catches her gasp on his tongue, kissing her with a desperation and an intensity that threatens to knock her off her stool but he holds her fast. There’s a heat and a passion behind every pull of his lips and flick of his tongue against her own that shoots straight to her belly. She groans against him, she can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this and her hands find his hips, hanging on for dear life as he uses his hand at her cheek to tilt her head, his thumb pulling down at her chin so he can kiss her deeper. His other hand finds the leather of her jacket, bunchin in it and using it to pull her closer, as if there was any room left between them.

When he finally pulls back she’s breathless, her eyes and her head feeling foggy and every inch of her skin humming. He smirks, his lips still brushing hers and then capturing them in another slow, soft kiss, this one shorter than the last and it sends waves of desire through her. Her own hand tightens in the leather at his hip. He breaks the second kiss and she’s ready to pull him back in for a third when someone coughs behind Killian.

Neal. She’d forgotten he was here.

She looks up into Killian’s eyes, glad to find them as heavy lidded and swallowed by black as she’s sure her own are. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, a smile crossing his face and then, he winks. He fucking winks and her, his back still to Neal. Emma sits gaping like an idiot, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he says again instead. “I got caught up at work. I hope that makes up for it a little.”

It takes her another second to catch on but when she does, a wave of gratitude and relief and a little bit of disappointment washes over her. It’s an act. He’s doing her a favor because she told him about her shitty ex boyfriend and he’s a nice guy. Killian smiles at her again, encouragingly this time and Emma decides to play along. Let Neal be the one feeling small, and unwanted and replaceable for once.

She reaches up and cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s just as soft as she thought it would be, and then allows herself the small pleasure of sliding her hand around the back of his neck and down to his chest where she teases the hair poking out of his shirt. “It’s a start,” she tells him. “You can really make it up to me later.” His eyebrow shoots up as a barely contained laugh, impressed and conspiratorial, crosses his face before he catches it between his teeth.

“Oh, I intend to,” he promises and while she knows they’re just playacting, the timber of his voice stirs some very real desires in her. She can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, weighing the pros and cons of dragging him into the bathroom and seeing how far he’ll take this charade. Neal clears his throat again, interrupting her fantasy and Killian smirks, smug, though she can tell it’s not at the reaction he’s drawing from her, but rather at the annoyance he’s managed to evoke from her ex.

“Hi, mate,” he says, reaching over and grabbing the bag from Neal’s stunned and limp fingers. “Thanks for this, we really needed it,” he tells him, gesturing between them with the bag. He hasn’t taken his hands off her. When he turned, his hand snaked around her waist, settling low on her hip, fingers playing idly with the waist of her jeans, teasing at the skin beneath her shirt and it’s all Emma can do to hold back the shivers that are forming at the base of her spine.

“Who the fuck are you?” Neal frowns, glaring at Killian before turning it on Emma. “Who the fuck is this guy?” he demands. Emma blanks, the ferocity of Neal’s anger freezing her on the spot. She’s never seen him jealous before. Thankfully, Killian jumps in again, his hand sliding up from her hip to the back of her neck, playing with the hair at the nape in a way that’s both sweet and oddly possessive.

“Take your pic,” Killian says breezily, looking at her with an extremely convincing imitation of a lovesick expression on his face. “Lover, paramour, beau, flame... boyfriend,” he says finally with a brush of his thumb under her ear and she practically melts. He’s very good at this pretending thing. Too good. “I’ll take whatever she’ll give me,” he says finally when she looks up at him and her certainty that he’s pretending waivers.

He stares at her for a moment longer, something weighted in his gaze that sends her heart beating frantically in her chest before he turns back to Neal, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “But I don’t need to tell you that,” he says dismissively. “You know what it’s like to be lucky enough to have Emma Swan give you the time of day.” There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks next. “Only a fool would have let her go.” He presses a kiss to her temple.

Neal is angry again. This time, it’s directed at her. “You expect me to believe that in the week since you stormed out you’ve gone and found yourself some boytoy to follow you around? Some guy you just met?

“I didn’t just meet him,” she says and it’s not technically a lie. She’s known him in passing for a year now, even if she did just learn his name tonight. “We… work together,” she says finally.

Neal looks at Killian with a wary expression. “You’re a bail bondsman?” he asks and Emma doesn’t miss the surprised and flatteringly impressed look Killian gives her before flawlessly answering that yes, yes he is in fact a bail bondsman.

“I’ve spent the last year working alongside Swan. Pining for her, waiting for her to walk into the office, to see that smile light up her face.” He traces the line of her lips. “The way those unreasonably tight jeans cling to her.” His fingers trace their way down her throat, over her shoulder. “Watch her face down one creep after another.”

He catches her hand, her knuckles a bit bruised from the last skip who wouldn’t stop fighting. He brushes his thumb over her knuckles before he brings them to his lips and kisses them. She watches him, enthralled by the picture he paints of her and he meets her gaze, looking no less mesmerized himself. “She’s a marvel, my Swan.” Emma swallows, she likes the way that sounds coming from his lips. My Swan. “But mostly,” he adds finally and he’s still not looking at Neal, only at her and god he’s handsome and he smells so good and he’s so… kind. That’s not something she’s used to but she’s drawn to it. “Waiting for her to break up with her idiot boyfriend so that I could tell her so,” he finishes.

Emma’s not sure what comes over her but suddenly her hands have found the back of his neck and she’s crushing his lips to hers. She can feel his surprise and nearly pulls back but his arms go around her waist as he draws her in, deepening the kiss. His hands alternate between gentle caresses and desperately fisting in her shirt and his mouth over hers is no different, languide strokes of his tongue alternated with bruising kisses and teeth nipping at her lips until she’s dizzy. Neal coughs a third time and Killian breaks away with a frustrated groan. One that feels very real.

“Are you still here?” he demands, glaring at the other man over his shoulder.

“I think I deserve some answers,” he says then, seething, and Emma feels a rage building in her like nothing she’s ever felt before. He deserves answers? He’s the one who’s spent years cheating and blaming her for it, who put her down at every opportunity, who reminded her that he could be with anyone if he wanted to and she couldn’t. She’s done with it. That final demand is the last straw. She owes him nothing.

“What’s going on,” she bites out and sees Neal almost recoil from the venom in her voice. He’s not used to her standing up for herself. Killian steps back, giving her room to finally tell off her awful ex, keeping his hand on her lower back and she appreciates the small gesture of support. “Is that I found someone who doesn’t treat me like garbage. Someone who doesn’t blame me for all their shortcomings and who actually gives a shit about what I think and feel and want.” She can see that her words are affecting him, for the first time ever, and so she digs in. She wants to hurt him.

“Someone who actually knows how to make me feel good, how to drive me insane and leave me desperate and wanting.” Killian raises a very interested brow at her then, listening attentively and she feels the blush creeping up her neck but continues. Neal had always been angry about how much difficulty she had finishing when they were together, accusing her of being cold and frigid. “Someone who doesn’t last thirty, underwhelming seconds and then rolls over like some useless lump. Someone I don’t have to beg to go down on me like it’s a chore so that I can have the hopes of a sub-par orgasm.”

She can feel Killian’s fingers twitch against the skin of her back but she can’t bring herself to look at him. His hand begins tracing up and down the base of her spine in a way she’s not even sure is intentional. His eyes are burning into her.

“Okay. Enough, I get it,” Neal says finally.

“Yeah. It is enough. I should have done this years ago.” She feels a pride swelling in her chest, mixing with the arousal that Killian is stirring in her and it’s a heady combination. “I think you should leave,” she tells him and she watches with vindication as his shoulders sag and he slinks out of the bar without another word.

Emma is so lost in the thrill and the satisfaction of watching her horrid ex leave so demolished, knowing that she likely won’t ever have to speak to him again, that it’s a moment before she remembers that she’s still standing here with a near stranger. A stranger she’s made out with three times now and who is currently removing his hand from where it had been playing against her skin. She misses it immediately. But the charade is over, she realises. It hadn’t been real, he’d been doing her a kindness and she was grateful to him, even if she was a little crushed that they couldn’t go on playing happy couple. He’d been very good at it.

Killian clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck as he gives her a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Well, I guess he won’t be bothering you again,” he says and Emma shakes her head.

“No. I’m sure he won’t. Thank you. For… well, all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He smiles at her again. It’s a nice smile, and she notices that he has a smudge of her lipstick on his bottom lip. She’s torn between reaching to wipe it off and leaving more marks on him. She does neither.

“Yes I did,” he says, drawing her attention away from his mouth. “He had it coming. I heard what he said to you and if what you said was true… well. You’re better to be rid of him.”

Emma clears her throat, a small smile playing at her lips. “Did you see his face when he thought we’d had some elicit office affair of the heart going on?” Killian nods, smirking proudly. “How did you even come up with all of that on the fly?” she asks. He’d been… very convincing.

“I didn’t,” he says and her eyes snap to his. But he doesn’t explain or elaborate, just lets it hang there in the air between them. She reaches out and takes his hand, tries to ignore the way the calluses feel rough against her soft skin, how warm he is.

“Thank you,” she says again. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for that.”

His smile is soft this time as he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles again. “You don’t. It was the right thing to do.”

He goes to leave her, to walk away but the feel of his lips against her skin is still burning through her fingers, burning everywhere that he’s touched her, like he’d branded her and left the marks behind. Her cheek, her neck, her spine, her hip, her lips, all of them are simmering after the raging inferno he set off in her and she’s not ready to let it die out just yet. He said he hadn’t made it all up.

She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never been with anyone but her shitty ex and a few guys when she was a teenager. She doesn’t know how to seduce a stranger into taking her home - or on the bartop, she’s not picky - but she shoots her shot. She catches his hand more firmly in her own before he can walk away.

“Unless…” she starts and he stops, takes a step back towards her.

“Unless?” There’s something a little hopeful in his eyes when they meet hers. And something a little less innocent and a little darker as they trail down to her lips.

“I mean, you were late,” she says coyly and watches as the playfulness crinkles the corners of his eyes and the smirk pulls at his lips.

He raises an eyebrow at her as he closes the last of the distance between them, standing close enough that she needs to spread her legs on her stool to allow him to stand between them. His thumb finds her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“I was,” he says, ducking his head and pressing his lips to her neck, just below her jaw. She takes in a shaky breath. “How very rude of me,” he adds before kissing the other side of her neck, this time at the hollow where it meets her collarbone. Emma squirms in her seat. He’s facing her again then, his lips barely an inch away from her own, so close that she can feel his breath on them when he speaks. “How will I ever make it up to you?”

She doesn’t think, she just acts, grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward until he’s trapped between her thighs and she can feel the hardness growing where he’s pressed against her. He lets out a surprised but pleased sound and it emboldens her.

“Why don’t you think about that while I thank you properly,” she says and he doesn’t need anymore encouragement. He catches her face in his hands again, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue teasing hers as he presses himself closer to her as one of his hands travels down to her thigh, sliding along it before hooking her knee and pulling it up around his hip. She nearly loses her balance on her seat but he holds her steady, his kisses growing deeper and headier and she’s letting out whimpers and soft moans, sounds she didn’t know she had in her and he swallows each of them up greedily, repeating whatever he’d done to draw them out so he can hear them again.

Her hands find their way to his hair, fisting and tugging and he lets out a groan so she does it again. And again. Her hips roll up against his of their own accord and he practically rips his mouth away from hers, the sound he makes somewhere between a gasp and a growl before he finds her neck again, lips and teeth and tongue laving at the skin there, biting and licking and sucking until she’s sure he’s left a mark but she holds him fast, tilting her head back to give him more access.

He takes it appreciatively, his tongue sliding down her throat until he reaches the top of her breast. The hand at her knee starts a slow journey up her side, under the skin of her shirt, burning and leaving goosebumps behind in their wake as he trails his fingers along her ribcage to her bra, his thumb tracing over her nipple and she gasps, dragging his mouth back to hers. She can feel his smirk against her lips but she doesn’t care, nipping at his bottom lip and slipping her own hand under his shirt and scratching at the trail of hair on his stomach, a trail she desperately wants to see and he shudders under her touch.

The bell rings above the door as a group of friends walk in, chattering happily and Killian pulls away, drawing his hand out from under her shirt. His forehead falls against hers, panting. His tongue comes out to run over his lip like he’s tasting her there. He’s looking at her like he’s waiting for her to decide what happens next and so she grabs the front of his shirt, tilting her head to brush her lips against his own, tongue flicking against the one he’d just licked and drawing another groan from him.

“Bathroom?” she asks and he shakes his head, stepping back and before she can even start to think she’s been rejected, he holds his hand out to her, nodding towards the back of the bar. She takes it and he begins practically dragging her towards the 'employees only' door before she remembers why she’d come here in the first place.

“My bag!” she says and he looks confused before he remembers, turning to grab the duffle and tossing it behind the bar and then pulling her along behind him again. Emma giggles at his enthusiasm, excitement and arousal and want making her giddy. He hears her laugh and turns, a bright smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lighting up his features as he pulls her to him. He captures her lips again, his fingers tangling in her hair as they both try and kiss with grinning mouths.

They pass someone in the staff area as Killian continues to walk them backwards to wherever his destination is, refusing to give up the kiss, and Emma feels herself flush as the young man sees them and smirks smugly and knowingly.

“About bloody time,” he says and Killian glowers at him.

“Get to work, Will. We have customers,” he barks and the man holds his hands up innocently, the smirk not leaving his face. Killian pulls her along a few more feet then until they reach a door that he fumbles to open. They’ve barely made it inside before he’s pushing her against the wood, pinning her there with his hips and his mouth and her head is spinning but his lips have started down her neck again and he rolls his hips against hers in a dirty grind that has her crying out.

When her eyes open she notices they’re in an office and she worries about what rules he might be breaking, worried about his job and asks if he’ll get in trouble for bringing her in here. He shakes his head.

“I own the place,” he says, his voice muffled against the underside of her jaw.

“You own the bar?” she demands, surprised and he sighs, pulling his head up to lean his forehead against hers.

“Could we perhaps talk about this later?” he asks, his talented fingers following her ribs up to her breast again, cupping it in his palm and dragging against its peak. Emma nods furiously before kissing him again. His hand is still moving over her, massaging and flicking and teasing before he grows frustrated by the fabric between them, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.

As soon as it’s off, he’s pulling at the cup of her bra, exposing her breast to him and taking her nipple in his mouth. Emma gasps at the feel of his tongue dragging against the sensitive tip, swirling and licking, teasing it with his teeth. She has a death grip in his hair, refusing to let him move, not that he seems particularly inclined to.

“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps when he finds her other breast with his hand, working her up more and more until she thinks she might come from this alone. She can feel his smirk, his scruff scratching against her skin and it sends a shiver through her whole body.

“That’s the intention, love,” he tells her and she tightens her hold in his hair for his smugness, yanking until he’s forced to pull away from her chest and look at her.

“Then get on with it,” she tells him and thrills at the way his expression darkens. He slides his hands between her and the door, palming her ass and rolling her hips against the hard ridge of his erection before he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist effortlessly. Emma’s arms wind around his neck as he turns, carrying her across the room and setting her down on the desk.

“As you wish,” he tells her, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms. She reaches behind herself and unclasps it, tossing it aside and watches as he takes her in, eyes roving hungrily over her. Nobody’s ever looked at her like that, like he wants to devour her. Maybe he does.

He’s still wearing his jacket and Emma is suddenly overcome with the unfairness that he’s spending so much time just looking at her while she doesn’t get to see any of him. She reaches for his shoulders and pushes the jacket down his arms until it falls to the floor, reaching for the hem of his shirt and beginning to slide it up but she gets distracted when his fingers resume their tortuous exploration of her breasts.

She gasps, her head falling back as his touch sends wetness pooling between her thighs and her nails dig into the skin at his sides. He’s watching her, taking note of her reactions, figuring out what makes her tick and then doing it again and again until she’s writhing under him and he hasn’t even undressed her yet. It’s never been like this, all consuming and desperate and wanton. She needs more and she whimpers his name.

The sound of his name falling from her lips so needily does something to him and suddenly he’s dragging her mouth back to his, swallowing her moan as his tongue does sinful things to hers. He pushes her back until she’s laying against the desk and his lips leave hers, trailing down her neck to her chest, taking a moment to pay attention to each of her breasts before continuing down her belly, playing at her navel a moment before he reaches the button of her jeans.

“I must say I’m quite a fan of these,” he tells her as he flicks open the button and starts to pull down the zipper. “But I think it’s time for them to go.” Then, he’s hooking his fingers into her waistband and pulling them down with enough force that she slides to the end of the desk with them. Emma sits up on her elbows as she watches him pull them off, one leg at a time until she’s left in only her underwear. He's watching her as well with something predatory in his gaze.

“I want to see you too,” she says, grabbing at his shirt but he seems too distracted to catch on. “Hey,” she says finally, sitting up and grabbing the collar to get his attention. “Fair’s fair.”

He lets out a low huff of laughter. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Bad form,” he chastises himself before reaching to pull the shirt over his head. Emma’s eyes widen as she takes him in, the strong curve of his shoulders and his arms that his shirt hadn’t done justice, the long lines of his torso, pale skin covered in dark hair that blankets his chest and tapers down over his stomach, disappearing beneath his jeans. She doesn’t fight the urge to burry her fingers in it, hands tracing over the planes of his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples and down his sides and he lets out a soft hiss.

She reaches his belt then and as she begins to pull at the leather to loosen it, he stops her. She frowns at him but he only presses his lips to her jawline, tongue flicking out to tease. “Ah, ah,” he says, taking hold of the last scrap of material keeping her from being bare to him. “Ladies first,” he insists with a soft nip before he pulls them down her legs. He’s parting her thighs then, and while Emma expects him to undo his pants, instead he slides down to his knees, placing a leg over either shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

He raises a brow at her from between her legs, a slow smirk creeping across his face and it’s so goddamn sexy that her toes curl against his back, a shudder rippling through her.

“As much as I’d like to hear you beg,” he starts. “I’d also like to make sure you have at least some chance at a sub-par orgasm,” he says echoing her words from earlier and she grins, biting her lip at how ridiculous he is and he takes that as permission. He turns his head, trailing slow, languid kisses along her thigh, scruff scratching at the sensitive skin until he reaches her hip. He bypasses where she’s hot and desperate for him to do the same on the other and she whines, trying to pull him in with her leg on his shoulder.

He chuckles against her, his breath ghosting over her folds and she sucks in a shaky breath. “Please, Killian,” she says and suddenly his mouth is there, placing a deep, hot kiss against her center and her whole body clenches with the intensity of it.

“I told you, Swan,” he says. “There’s no need to beg.” He smirks at her. “This time.”

And before she can say anything his tongue is dragging a slow line from base to top and every thought in her mind is gone except for him and fuck. He eats into her like a starving man, tongue lapping at her folds, sliding inside of her and thrusting in a way that has her back arching off the desk and her hands fisting in his hair. He lays an arm across her hips to keep her still as he replaces his tongue with his fingers, dragging slowly and steadily against her walls in a rhythm that has her writhing, desperately trying to rock her hips against him.

“Bloody hell, love,” he says as he watches her ride his fingers. “You’re a vision. So wet, so wanting. Tell me what you need,” he asks then, begs, and she’s too caught up in the feelings he’s sending through her body to find words so instead she presses her heel against his back until he gets the message and closes his mouth over he clit, tongue flattening against it as he circles in time with his fingers.

“Fuck!" She’s already so close. It’s never been this easy, this quick, this intense, but her whole body feels like it’s burning, the coil in her belly tightening and he picks up his pace. His fingers curl inside of her pumping hard and fast as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks and her whole world shatters.

Killian works her through it, fingers still thrusting slowly, his thumb replacing his mouth as he slides up her body, working her back up before she’s even sure she’s come down. He takes a moment to pause at her hips, her stomach, her breasts and by the time he’s claiming her lips she’s desperate for him again.

She sits up, taking hold of his hips and pulling him against her until their flush, the hair of his chest scraping against the sensitive skin of her nipples and only making her want more. This time, when she reaches for his belt he doesn’t stop her and she makes quick work of his jeans, sliding inside and taking him in hand.

He groans into her mouth and she smiles against his lips. He’s hard and hot and heavy under her touch and she drags her palm along his length a few times until he growls out a warning ‘Swan’.

She takes pity on him, pushing his jeans down his hips and wrapping her hand around him, pumping him slowly and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in pained bliss and god she wants him. She can’t remember the last time she wanted someone like this. So she tells him.

“Now,” she adds and he nods a little frantically, patting his pockets before he spots his wallet on the desk next to her and retrieves a condom from it. He brings the packet to his teeth, fumbling for a moment as she squeezes him and he gives her another warning glare.

She smirks, leaning in to press her lips to his neck, catching the hard, tense lines of it between her teeth, biting and then soothing the spot with her tongue. He groans and she gives the other side of his neck the same treatment, thrilling when he curses under his breath, desperately trying to roll the condom on.

She’d help but she’s having too much fun, particularly when she sucks a bruise into the spot just behind his ear and he lets out a stuttering cry, his hand grabbing hold of her hip, fingers digging into her skin. She’ll probably have a mark there and she likes that idea, likes the idea that she can get him as out of control as he can her.

“Minx,” he accuses, using her hair to draw her mouth back up to his and sliding his tongue deep without preamble. His kiss is sloppy, desperate, wanting. He’s on the edge and she brought him there. She wonders if she can push him over.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks then, releasing her mouth to say it low in her ear. “Ever since that first night you came into the bar with your friends. Gods you were stunning.” His fingers slip around her hip to between her thighs, finding her center again and she whimpers at his touch, slow and teasing, circling without ever hitting where she needs him.

“I wanted to curl my fingers into you bloody ridiculously long hair,” he tells her, doing just that as his fingers slip inside her once more and she gasps. “Aye, and in there.” She’s clutching at his shoulders as he fucks her with his fingers, continuing to rasp filth into her ear. “I thought about how you’d look, splayed out on the bartop with my head between your legs, or bent over this desk. It was bloody torture.”

His thumb finally brushes over her clit and her whole body wracks with the force of the pleasure that courses through her. “Why,” she gasps again when he circles tighter. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. She doesn’t usually like dirty talk. She'd always found it derogatory. But it’s not with him. It makes her feel wanted and desirable.

“Because you had a bloody boyfriend,” he growls, exasperated. Who? She wonders before remembering and then wishing she hadn’t. “But that didn’t stop me from imagining how you’d look with your back arched just like this,” he says, eyes raking over the length of her. “Or the sounds you’d make when I touched you,” he adds, then pulls his fingers from her heat and sucks them into his mouth, making her squirm. “I imagined you writhing just like this, begging me to take you.”

She doesn’t need to beg though at this point she would, dignity be damned. No one has ever made her feel this way and she never wants it to end. She’d give him anything he asked for if he just didn’t stop. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulls him against her so that his cock pushes through her folds and they both moan. Killian ruts his hips against hers a few times, the tip of him brushing against her sensitive bundle of nerves and when she thinks she can’t take it anymore he finally takes himself in hand and lines himself up with her entrance.

“Gods, I imagined how tight and hot and perfect you’d be around me,” he confesses before pushing in and grabbing hold of her, staying still for a moment as she adjusts to the sensation of being filled by him. He’s big. Thick and long and so much better than what she’s made do with for the last decade. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so full, so properly full until now. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he manages, his voice strained.

“Move,” she begs then. “Please.” He obliges, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in hard and fast and Emma cries out from the force of it. He’s barely started but she can already tell she’s never been properly fucked either.

He starts moving then, thrusting in and out of her at a punishing pace and she takes all that he can give her. Her hands are in his hair again and his finds her leg, hitching it higher over his hip so he can thrust deeper, hitting new places inside of her. His hand slides down to the cheek of her ass, pulling forward to meet his every thrust, rolling his pelvic bone over her clit each time he pushes back into her and Emma’s already nearly ready to fall again.

“That’s it, love,” he tells her as a litany of embarrassing sounds fall from her lips and she claws at the skin of his arms, hips rolling in a desperate grind. “Take what you need.” His free hand comes to her breast, teasing the hardened peak the way he’d spent time figuring out she liked. Everything he does is just how she likes it, how she never even knew she liked it. But he’s figured her out in the time it took to get her out of her pants and now he’s using all of it to bring her higher, higher than she’s ever been.

And she falls. He slants his mouth over hers, like he wants to swallow her ecstasy, feel it humming through his body and then with a final few thrusts, she feels his own release echo through her. They stay there for a moment, frozen in a half kiss, mouths open and panting, breathing each other in as they both try to come down from such a fierce, earth-shattering climax.

Emma finds his hair then, brushing he damp strands from his face as he holds her to him. “I wish you’d told me,” she says finally, thinking of all the time she wasted with him when she could have been having this with Killian.

He huffs out a laugh against her cheek, pulling back and stroking it gently. “Aye, I was a bloody idiot,” he tells her. “Everyone who works here knew I was pining for you and they all told me so.” Emma smiles, her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks reddening at his confession. He’d already told her he’d thought about her but to hear that he’d been pining…

“Well, you may be an idiot,” she grants him and he pinches her side playfully. “But you’re the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

He beams at her then, and then a wicked look falls over his face. The hand at her side begins tracing her thigh, from knee to hip and then up to her ribs.

“What are you doing?” she asks, though it’s fairly obvious when his skilled fingers find her still overly-sensitive center and she gasps at the sharp pleasure. He raises a brow at her.

“I’m wondering,” he starts, lips finding her ear as his fingers start a slow stroke that has goosebumps blossoming over her skin. “How many sub-par orgasms it would take to earn the title of real boyfriend.” Her heart is racing, from his touch, or his words, or both. She doesn’t care. She wants both. She likes him. It’s been so long since she liked someone and for it to be someone like him, and for him to like her back, to have pined for her as he put it…

She smiles. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

~*~

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the tag list:

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @gingerchangeling @bubblegum1425 @jackieorioncat @darkcolinodonorgasm @xhookswenchx @lfh1226-linda @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xsajx @thejollyroger-writer @elizabeethan @carpedzem @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @demisexualemmaswan @itsfabianadocarmo @courtorderedcake

#captain swan #cs #captain swan smut #cs smut #anti-neal #cs au

122 notes · View notes

captcas · 4 years ago

Text

cardigan

cardigan by capthamm

and when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed you put me on and said I was your favorite

part three of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore read on ao3 / read the ao3 series / read invisible string / read illicit affairs

Reevaluating her life over the rim of a toilet bowl was not where Emma Swan thought she would be at 20– well, maybe it’s not that far off, but she thought Killian would be here too. Life keeps giving her glaring reminders that he isn’t and hasn’t been for nine fucking months. All she’s got is her shitty one-night-stand turned casual fuck, Neal, who won’t even hold her hair back as she pukes up the Fireball he made her drink.

Killian doesn’t drink whiskey. Even if he did, Killian would hold her hair.

Killian.

Funny how someone 2000 miles away can simultaneously be the cause of all your problems and the only one who can fix them.

She hears the front door shut and yells for Neal. She doesn’t expect a response— assuming he’s left her to her own devices for the night— so she jumps when someone answers back.

“Emma, love?”

Great. Now she’s hallucinating.

Except she’s not, and when she feels the familiar, warm touch of Killian’s hand scoop her sweaty hair from the nape of her neck, she’s confident this is as real as the next bout of vomit making its way up her throat.

Welcome home, Jones.

She hears him sigh her name under his breath, but is too embarrassed to look at him, the bowl of the toilet seeming like a perfect hiding spot of shame. When she’s finished, he gently tugs on the hair he’s twisted into a scrunchie (how he managed to find one is beyond her) and she knows he’s onto her.

Emma groans, the noise echoing through her porcelain hideout and she hears Killian bark out a laugh as she turns to face him.

He looks so much older. He always was more mature, but the Navy made him look the part too. His eyes are still the same though, blue and kind. Emma has so much to say to him, a swirl of every emotion imaginable making her feel slightly dizzy once more. She centers herself by asking the most obvious question, “What are you doing here?”

He winces at the same moment she realizes the venom in her voice. Guess even five– probably more than five– shots of Fireball and an hour of puking can’t hide months of resentment.

But she knew that.

He speaks softly– no pity laced in his tone, just understanding and maybe some guilt, “Your dad called.”

Emma is sure this is the eyeroll her mother warned her about— you know, the one where her eyes are stuck backwards forever and she has to get a dog to help her cross the street. Does Killian even like dogs? Of course he does, everyone likes dogs. Why does it matter to her if Killian likes dogs...

Focus, Emma. Your dad called him.

“Of course he did. Well thanks for coming. Clearly, it’s been great. I can take care of myself.” She spins on her butt to straddle the toilet once more and while she can’t see him she knows Killian is running his hand over his face.

She knows Killian better than she knows herself, every mannerism, tick, and pet peeve. She also knows his heart– fierce, kind, and loyal. And don’t even get her started on his face— handsome and one that would stand out in thousands. Emma thought she was past all this. Get a grip– he left you. He left you in this stupid town with no one but your parents and Neal. Hello, resentment, it’s great to see you again.

She groans and throws her head into her arms resting on the edge of her new friend. Killian chuckles once more and Emma can’t help but shoot him a warning glance.

“I missed you, Swan.”

She missed him too. Despite all the anger in her, love is winning out. Love will always win out when it comes to Killian and Emma’s not sure why she’s surprised. She was too stubborn to admit it was love until he was fourth months into basic training and she felt his absence like a hole in her chest.

When she doesn’t answer, he kisses the top of her forehead and tells her he’s going to grab some crackers and Gatorade but to yell if she needs him. Killian’s always been like this, an anchor to her wild storm. He knows when to push her buttons and when to just be there. Killian always seemed to be there— and then he just… wasn’t.

Emma can’t blame him for changing the life plans they made when they met that first summer. They were only 14 and she’s not sure why her heart put so much stock in what he said under that willow tree.

Probably because she knew he meant it. If Killian Jones was anything, he was loyal.

But life happens— no, shit happens. Brothers go off to war, decide to be the hero, and never come home. And men like Killian feel a duty to continue their legacy.

Like she said, loyal. And who is she to get in the way of destiny?

It’s just… she thought she was that destiny. She thought he was going to be different. Emma’s life threw her an innumerable amount of twists but the one she never saw coming was Killian leaving.

A small voice somewhere deep in her soul reminds her he came back— it sounds like her mother— but a much louder voice seems determined to remind her he left at all. It reminds her that he left and she went off the rails and that somehow that makes it his fault.

Killian would kill her if he knew all she’d done— and not done— in the past nine months.

Somehow she suspects he already knows, and that’s what has her tearing up as he returns to the bathroom with comfier clothes and the promised snacks to calm her stomach.

He makes it so hard to let go. She doesn’t want to let go.

He turns away as she slips into the sweatpants as though he hasn’t seen her underwear a hundred times— trips to the quarry at midnight playing like film reels in her mind. As she slides on the sweater– his oversized cardigan she stole yearsago– Killian slides down the wall and sits across from her. She relaxes at his touch, his legs long enough that the bottom of his feet touch her knees.

Swans. She bought him those socks.

They sit in silence for a while. He watches her intently as she hydrates and eats the crackers he brought. Meanwhile, her head is reeling at how to start a conversation that’s approximately 6 years and 9 months overdue.

How does she tell him he hurt her when he left because she doesn’t know how life works without him by her side? How does she tell him she’s sorry that she’s broken? How does she tell him that she’s used goods now, tainted, while he’s growing into the man she always knew he’d be? How does she tell him she’s not good enough for him?

That she loves him?

As if on cue, Killian speaks, “Swan, we need to talk. I know you don’t do talking, but we can’t avoid this any longer and I don’t have much time before–“

“Don’t say it.” She knows the end of the sentence will pierce her heart like 1000 knives. Logically she knew he’d have to leave again, basic training bleeding almost directly into some sort of placement. (Emma isn’t entirely sure how the Navy works, but she knows Killian will always be somewhere else.) “I know what you’re going to say, but don’t say it. We need to talk sure, but don’t already put us on a timer, Jones.”

He nods solemnly. “Tell me about Neal.”

She can’t help the laugh that bursts out of her. “I haven’t seen you in nine months and you want to know about Neal.” Emma feels herself grow hysteric, the giggles bubbling out of her uncontrollably.

Killian doesn’t seem amused. “Aye, Swan. I had to kick him off your couch– bloody knockered by the way– while you were neck deep in a toilet, so pardon me if I’m a tad curious.”

His tone brings Emma back down to earth like a bucket of cold water. “He’s nothing Killian. Just someone to warm the bed. I’m sure you understand.” A low blow– so low, she has to hold back a flinch. Emma knows Killian… loyal.

But what did he have to be loyal to? They never said more than a goodbye. No commitments or strings attached. Emma told herself that’s what Killian wanted.

She knows it wasn’t.

“Ouch, Swan. You know me better than that.” He levels with her, his eyes slowly becoming lighter than the stormy blue that was present when he arrived.

Emma speaks at almost a whisper, “He told me he loved me…” She doesn’t need to finish her statement. Killian knows what that means to her, and it’s probably why he never said it– that or she’s been seriously misreading his signals for 6 years.

Foster care makes that word as fragile as an antique vase– the misuse of it shattering the antiquity til there is nothing of value left. It’s an easy way to get a foster kid to trust you. Neal used it to get in her pants, and she let it happen. Sure, she has David and Mary Margaret now, but it was 13 years of different homes and broken promises.

That doesn’t go away.

Killian grabs her knee and slides her over to him, positioning her comfortably by his side and she instinctively rests her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t mean to say her next sentence aloud, but it escapes her lips all the same, “I’m too broken without you, Killian.”

She hates how pathetic she sounds, never one to rely on anyone but herself.

Still, Killian was different from that moment in Morrison Park. She went there to read and Killian, new to the area, was sitting in her spot doing just the same. The rest is history. They didn’t know each other their whole lives but they grew up together. He stuck with her through the excruciatingly long adoption process, and she held his hand through the entirety of Liam’s funeral. People rarely addressed one without the other and they became a unit. When Killian left, she broke– a cog in her mechanics coming to a halt.

“That’s bullshit.” Emma sits up at his profanity– she’s not sure he’s ever sounded so American.

“Excuse me?” She can’t help but chuckle at her shock.

“It’s bullocks, Emma. You aren’t broken in the slightest. How could I make you whole when you were already so complete without me?” Emma is stunned to silence as Killian looks at her as intensely as he did the night they said goodbye. “You don’t need me to be you, Emma Swan. I’m just the fortunate one who gets to watch you become who you’re supposed to be.”

Emma is crying now. “But I’ve ruined everything. I didn’t go to school, I stopped showing up at Granny’s, my mom is–“

Killian cuts her off, “And who said you can’t start now?”

It’s the most simple piece of advice anyone has ever given her, but it feels like an epiphany. She thought losing Killian was the end, that she couldn’t go on with life without her best friend there every step of the way, but she was dead wrong. Killian never would’ve wanted her sulking over his choices, so why would she?

This isn’t her. It never was. Killian speaks again, “This lifestyle– it… it may have been easier than venturing out on your own, but none of your life has been easy, Swan. Why start now?” She nods, taking him in. “And you know that no matter what you do or how you feel, you’ll always be my favorite being on this earth.”

Emma wipes a tear from her cheek and looks away, too overwhelmed to think about what he’s truly saying.

He loves her. Always has— probably as long as she’s loved him. Until now she thought it couldn’t be because he never said it, but as she replays the six years of their friendship, she sees it. Vintage t-shirts found at Goodwill, children’s games like Candy Land or hide n’ seek, nights out with fake ids, reading under the willow tree– he left and she thought it was because none of that was enough for him anymore. That she wasn’t enough. And for a moment, when he first entered her bathroom, she was convinced he was only back because of her dad.

She’s a fucking idiot.

Emma stands up abruptly, on a mission to right the wrongs she’s created over the past nine months. Killian looks taken aback by her sudden movement but remains on the floor.

She brushes her teeth.

When she’s done she reaches out a hand to help him stand. Before he can get his footing, she’s pulling him into a kiss that almost knocks them both off their feet. Her back slams into the stone sink, but the feeling of Killian connected to her at last overrides the pain. Killian starts to laugh when they come up for air, and Emma initially fears the worst. He kisses her once more, gently, before speaking, his lips brushing against hers as he talks, “I appreciate you brushing your teeth before doing that, but, full disclosure, I’m not sure I would’ve minded.”

Emma laughs, “I’m sorry it took me so long.” He rubs his thumb over her cheek and she leans into the touch. “You came back.”

He kisses her again, “Did you ever doubt that I would?”

Emma answers him with a kiss, but deep down she knows he’s right. Despite losing her way, and holding months of anger towards him, she knew he wasn’t the same as everyone else who had ever let her down. It was easier to hate him for leaving than to love him and let him go, but she doesn’t want easy anymore. And as Killian unbuttons his old cardigan later that week, sending shockwaves through her system, she realizes no matter what it takes, she wants to remain his favorite forever.

#cs ff #CS modern AU #Captain Swan #killian jones #emma swan #capthamm #captain swan's folklore #friends to lovers #folklore #cardigan

42 notes · View notes

terreisa · 4 years ago

Text

Love Down the Line: Chapter 7

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch. When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept. Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones. With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, AO3

~*CS*~

On the road between Dallas and Houston, May 18th

“Alright, Scarlet, it’s come down to this. What’s your move?”

Emma kept her face impassive as Will scrutinized her closely. She nearly gave herself away when he leaned forward with a smug grin.

“All in, luv,” he said with confidence as he pushed his chips into the center of the table.

“Mistake,” Tink called out from the chair she was perched on towards the front of the bus.

“Shut it,” he growled, rolling his eyes. Tapping his cards he nodded, “All in.”

She looked at her cards before making a show of looking over the cards that were face up in front of Will’s pile of chips. With just the right amount of hesitation she returned his nod.

“So am I.”

Pushing her chips in she became aware of someone looking over her shoulder. Knowing it could only be Killian she ignored him, or at least tried to. Ever since she’d half kissed him in Chicago she’d become almost jumpy whenever he was around. She was beyond relieved that he hadn’t wanted to play poker with her and Will because there would have been no way for her to stay calm and collected with him nearby. As it was her hands felt unsteady and she was suddenly a little too warm.

“Let’s see ‘em,” she said with the slightest shake in her voice.

Will grinned widely, turning over his cards with a flourish, “Three of a kind with my mates Jack, Jack, and would you look at that? Jack. I’ll be takin’ the pot now-”

“Will you though?” She hummed.

Killian snorted a laugh from behind her while Tink muttered an ‘I told you so’ from the front.

“Bloody fuck-” Will’s smile dropped to a grimace, “You’re a cheat you know.”

“Or I’m just that good,” she said smugly, flipping over her cards, “Full house and it seems a couple of your mates have dropped by for the party. Do you think they could loan you the money you now owe me?”

“Sod off,” he growled, tossing his cards at her with a glare. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, “Beware of this one, mate, she’ll bleed ya dry and do it with a smile.”

He pushed away from the table while Killian and Tink laughed, stalking towards the back of the bus. Emma shook her head as she organized the mess of chips, calculating just how much of Will’s money she’d won over the course of the tour so far. It wasn’t much, they’d agreed early on in their friendship to only play for coins, but Will was a sore loser and she was a smug winner. Every cent would count when they got to Vancouver and she’d take what he owed her.

“He’s totally going to pay you in pennies again, you know,” Tink said, sounding slightly bored but still amused.

“I still can’t figure out where the hell he got six thousand three hundred pennies and who he paid to help him,” she said hotly. She turned to Killian who had moved to their kitchenette, “We played the final hand only an hour before our last show and the stupid things were piled up at the side of the stage before the encore. Even Belle doesn’t know!”

“Oh, she knows,” Tink said, peering around the back of her chair, “We all do. We’ve just decided not to tell you.”

Killian snickered and she scowled at him, “Do you know too?”

“On my honor, I do not,” he said solemnly, his hand raised like he was swearing an oath though his eyes were glittering with amusement.

“Liar,” she scoffed, getting back to setting her chips into manageable piles, “Whatever, I still end up getting the money from him and that’s all that matters.”

“I never knew you were so competitive, love,” Killian remarked, his voice lilting with a laugh.

“Only in poker. I’m pretty laid back when it comes to other stuff,” she said with a shrug.

“Not true-” Tink’s face popped up over the top of her chair, her eyes narrowed, “Should I tell him about the Scrabble debacle?”

“Scrabble debacle?” Killian echoed as he set a mug of hot cocoa, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon, at her elbow. She felt herself blushing at the gesture as he slid in across from her with a cup of tea for himself, “I feel this is a tale I should know.”

Tink bounced out of her chair and over towards them, pushing her aside as she slid into the booth. Emma rolled her eyes but scooted over to make room for her.

“So this happened on our first tour together-”

“You say tour, I say a month of hell roaming around the eastern seaboard,” Emma grumbled, taking a sip of her cocoa.

“Okay, true,” TInk conceded. She gave Killian a shrug, “We were playing a gig almost every night and travelling around in a van that also had all our equipment-”

“Don’t forget all four of us were sharing the same shitty motel room and we’d all just met each other.”

“Do you want to tell it?” Tink asked with a raised brow.

“Nope,” she said with a grimace, “It’s bad enough I’m being forced to relive it.”

“Anyway,” Tink said pointedly, “Ruby thought it’d be a good idea to play Scrabble to get us to be friends and not just people that played music together. Any down time we had the board came out and we played until one of us was needed somewhere.”

“We did the same with Boggle,” Killian said with a smile, “Robin had nicked the game from a pub we’d played at one night. Liam hated how we got it but never seemed to complain when he won a round.”

“A man after Emma’s own heart,” Tink said sweetly, winking at Killian while kicking Emma under the table. Emma scowled at her but otherwise ignored her, “See the rest of us thought we were playing for fun, getting to know each other through some nice, quality time together. Then this one decided to keep a running tab of everyone’s scores. When we found out the friendly games went out the window.”

“I’m not the one who started betting money on the games,” Emma huffed.

“No, but you bloody well took some of us to the cleaners regardless,” Will’s muffled yell sounded from his bunk.

“She also got the four guys we had on the road crew in on it. Set up a tournament with a twenty five dollar buy in and two hundred dollars going to the winner-” Tink shook her head but she was grinning.

“And who, may I ask, won the tournament?” Killian asked, turning to her with a raised brow and a knowing look in his eye.

Emma squirmed in her seat, fiddling with the handle of her mug. It had been years but she still wasn’t over the whole thing.

“Anton,” she muttered.

Killian rocked back slightly, as though her answer caught him by surprise, “Anton? The man currently behind the wheel of this bus, Anton?”

Tink was laughing and she wheezed as she answered him, “After organizing the stupid thing she was knocked out in the first round by yours truly. Anton surprised everyone with his win. Turns out he’s part of some big online Scrabble league. Said it was like shooting fish in a barrel!”

Almost as soon as the words were said Emma heard a muffled bang. At the same moment the bus started shaking violently, scattering the poker chips she’d put into meticulous piles and spilling her and Killian’s drinks causing them both to move quickly out of the way of the hot liquids. Over the sounds of Will’s cursing, the rattling of everything that wasn’t nailed down, and a quick, rhythmic thumping from somewhere beneath her she could barely hear Anton trying to tell them something. Crawling over Tink, who had ducked halfway under the table, she tried to stand but couldn’t keep her balance from the way that the bus was swaying. Then a warm hand grasped her elbow and steadied her.

“It’s a blown tire, love,” Killian half yelled over the noise, still seated, “Anton will want us to remain where we are until he pulls over.”

“Okay,” she yelled back, though the racket was lessening as the bus slowed noticeably.

She debated shoving Tink aside so she could be a little safer and sit when Killian tugged on her arm.

“C’mon, Swan, best be seated-” he pulled her down to sit next to him, tucking her into his side with his arm wrapped around her waist, “I’d move over but the seat’s covered in tea.”

“It’s alright,” she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.

All too soon the bus came to a shuddering stop. Reluctantly she pried herself from his warm embrace and stood back up, trying not to seem too disappointed to do so. Luckily Will came stumbling towards them swearing up a storm and hopefully distracting Kilian from her slight frown. Tink, on the other hand, was watching her with knowing eyes.

“What in the blue fuck was that?” Will said shakily, running his hands over his head and down his face.

“We’ve had a tire blowout, folks. Everyone okay?”

Anton was lumbering his way back towards them, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was a giant of a man who scowled at anyone he didn’t know but once Emma had cracked his shell he was the sweetest man she’d ever met. He was also the most easy going, having no problem making an unscheduled stop so she could get junk food or do a little cheesy sight seeing at a tourist trap. She liked him so much she’d even gone so far as to put it in her touring contracts that he would always be the one behind the wheel, driving her from city to city. The fact that he routinely kicked her ass at Words With Friends in his downtime was her only complaint against him.

“A little shaken up-” Emma grinned at Anton while Will and Tink groaned, “but no one’s hurt. You okay?”

“Might have soiled myself a little but that’s the extent of it for me. The rig is another story, though,” Anton sighed. “I’ve got a replacement but I’ll need to find a shop that can handle the big girl and a way to get her there. I can almost guarantee it’ll be a few hours before I can get her back on the road.”

Emma looked at her watch and did the math, “Okay, we have five hours until sound check. How far away are we from Dallas?”

“I know what you’re thinking but it’ll be cutting it too close and I’d like to keep my job,” Anton said with a rueful smile. “Luckily the tire blew when we happened to be passing through a good sized town. I’ll call it in and hopefully you’ll be set up with a rental to get you the rest of the way there.”

“Oh, Regina’s gonna love this,” Tink muttered under her breath.

“Maybe we’ll get a proper manager out of it,” Will said hopefully. “Ain’t bloody right she only shows up for half the shows and bullies us at all of them.”

“It’ll be less than half this time. She’s only gracing us with her presence in the cities she actually likes,” Emma said distractedly, looking out the windows and smiling at what she saw, “So, how long do you think we’ll have to wait for that rental car?”

“Emma-” there was a note of warning in Anton’s voice, “Please don’t get me fired.”

“Swan?” Killian asked in the same tone.

“I won’t-” she turned back to them with an exaggerated look of innocence and held up the first three fingers of her right hand, “Scout’s honor.”

“As if you were a bloody scout,” Will snorted.

She stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Anton with a grin, “Look, you’ve got calls to make and then Regina’s gonna have calls to make and I’m sure those people will have calls to make too. That gives us at least an hour before there’s even a chance at getting that rental, right?”

Anton shook his head with a sigh, “Right.”

“And you probably won’t run the bus to keep the air going or want us hanging around annoying you while you try and get things sorted, right?”

“You’ve made your point, so make your point,” Anton said with an exasperated smile.

“There’s a convenient little strip mall over there and that big barn looking thing across from it,” she said, pointing west out the window and across the highway. “We’ll get out of your hair and stay somewhat close at the same time. Win-win.”

Anton pinched his nose between his fingers. Will and Tink followed her finger, looking curiously out the window but Killian was watching her. She narrowed her eyes at him but he just smiled.

“As if you need my permission” Anton said with a snort. “Just don’t get arrested or anything. I only want to have to listen to Regina yelling at me once today.”

“Great-” Emma gave him a wide grin, “Want me to bring you back something?”

“The biggest goddamn coffee you can find.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, mate, this is Texas after all,” Will joked, elbowing Anton in the side.

“Get out of here before I throw you out,” Anton growled but without heat.

Less than five minutes later the four of them were walking under the highway overpass with Will and Tink complaining about the heat of the day and the circumstances that lead them there. Emma, on the other hand, saw it as a blessing in disguise. It was rare that she was able to get time to herself on the days she had a show. Granted it would only be a little over an hour and she wasn’t exactly alone but it was better than sitting cooped up on the bus while everything got sorted out.

Will and Tink pulled ahead, their complaints spurring them on as Killian hung back. Emma tried in vain to keep her pleased smile in check.

“What’s that smile for, Swan?” He asked, bending a little so he could catch her eye from under the brim of an Astros hat.

“How’d you know we’d blown a tire?” She shot back, not wanting him think he was the reason she was smiling even though he totally was.

“Had it happen a couple of times back in the day,” he said with a shrug, “The worst was when it happened once to the van Robin was driving. We were lucky. That day.”

A cloud passed over his face as his eyes focused somewhere ahead of them. Wanting to kick herself for somehow sticking her foot in it again she kept her mouth shut instead. After a few moments he tentatively touched the back of her hand. When she looked up at him he gave her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the melancholy, love, can’t be helped sometimes.”

“Not your fault I’m an idiot that seems to bring it up constantly,” she said bitterly, kicking at a pebble on the ground, “I’m surprised you keep wanting to talk to me.”

He gave her a look of surprise but before he could say anything Will was shouting at them.

“Do I have to hang around with you lot or…?”

Emma quickened her steps to catch up to them, catching onto Killian’s hand at the last second to drag him with her. When they came to a stop she let him go, even as he gave her a shy grin that she was helpless to return. Tink cleared her throat and Emma snapped her gaze to her, feeling heat crawl up her neck at the knowing look she was giving her.

“You have your phone don’t you?” Emma asked Will pointedly, hoping that none of them made any kind of comment about anything.

“Perfect,” he said instead of answering, bouncing on his toes, “I’ll be expectin’ your call then.”

He tipped an imaginary hat at them and sauntered off in the direction of the large barn she’d seen from the bus. She was not only surprised to see that it was an antiques mall but that that was where Will seemed to be headed. Then she remembered that Belle’s birthday was coming up and he took great pride in finding unique and ridiculously romantic gifts for her. It also reminded her that David’s birthday was only a couple of weeks away and it couldn’t hurt to take a look around the mall herself.

“Wait up, I’m coming with!” She called after him.

“And I spy a used book store over there so that’s where I’m headed,” Tink trilled. She linked her arm through Killian’s, giving Emma an all too innocent grin, “Coming with Killian? Since you were just complaining about finishing the last of the books you packed and refuse to read any of mine and all.”

“Oh, er-” he scratched behind his ear and gave her a searching look, “If that’s alright with you, Swan.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” she said with a forced laugh, glaring at Tink when Killian looked towards the strip mall where the used bookstore was, “I guess I’ll let you know when we need to go back to the bus.”

“Great! See you in a bit!”

Emma watched as they crossed the four lane street, Tink’s arm still threaded through Killian’s. As much as she knew Tink was doing it to annoy her she couldn’t help the stab of jealousy she felt. With a huff at how ridiculous she was being she once again caught up with Will, who was tapping an imaginary watch as she approached.

“As if you’re ever anywhere on time,” she scoffed.

“I’m never late, everyone else is just early,” he said as he fell into step with her.

She gaped at him, “Did you- please tell me you didn’t just quote Princess Diaries.”

“Iconic film, luv,” he said sagely, “Queen Clarisse is a royal worth bendin’ the knee for.”

“You’re full of surprises, Scarlet,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Seems you are too-” he hip checked her and tipped his head in the direction Tink and Killian had gone, “Gettin’ cosy with the rock star and all.”

“No! Nothing’s- I’m not getting cosy,” she spluttered, heat crawling up the back of her neck. “And even if I was it’s not any of your business.”

“He likes you too,” Will chuckled. “Didn’t get so defensive ‘bout it but turned about as red as you are right now.”

She stopped in her tracks, staring wide eyed and mouth open at his back as he kept walking. He didn’t even pause to see why she was no longer at his side, merely turned on his heel and walked backwards, giving her a shit-eating grin.

“You two aren’t nearly as subtle as you think.”

By the time she scraped her jaw off the sidewalk and chased after him he’d disappeared inside the refurbished barn. She had half a mind to hunt him down and make him explain what he meant. Unfortunately the sheer size of the place and the dozens of aisles she could see from just inside the door had her second guessing that idea. Figuring there would be plenty of opportunities to corner and torture him for information later she headed to her left and began perusing the vast sea of antiques before her.

Nearly forty minutes and hundreds, if not thousands, of items later Emma found herself sitting on the floor of a promising booth. Whoever had rented the spot was clearly a fan of music. The temporary walls were covered with vintage tour posters for artists dating back to the forties and fifties, some of which were signed. Most of the booth was taken up by a large locked display case that housed signed photos, early fan club collectables from bands that had become global phenomenons, and other highly coveted paraphernalia. What had caught Emma’s eye, however, were the dozens of boxes of records and she had promptly sat herself down and began sifting through them.

She was adding a record to the small pile she’d set aside, some meant for David’s gift and some for herself, when a familiar pair of beat up converse stepped up beside her. Not quite able to temper the giddiness she felt at Killian seeking her out she looked up at him with a grin. It quickly faded when she saw that he was looking at something in the booth as though he’d seen a ghost. When she craned her neck to see what he was staring at she gasped and immediately scrambled to her feet.

How she hadn’t noticed the Realm of Jewels’ tour poster was a mystery to her. While it wasn’t front and center it was framed, having been signed by the entire band. To make matters worse it was from their final, unfinished tour.

“Killian?” She said softly, reaching out for his hand but hesitating at the last second.

He remained unmoving, growing paler by the second. Quickly looking around her she noticed there were several people that were wandering the aisle towards them. She also noticed a door that was slightly ajar that looked like it led outside. Slowly she stepped in front of him, reaching up and gently cupped his face in her hands. After a long moment his eyes dropped to hers and his gaze was haunted.

“C’mon,” she whispered.

Sliding her hands down until her fingers wrapped around his, she waited patiently from some kind of indication that he’d heard her. Finally he nodded, closing his eyes and taking a shuddering breath. Not waiting another second she dropped one of his hands but kept a firm grip on the other as she guided him out the door. As soon as she was certain that there was no one around to see them she pulled him into her arms and held him tight. Almost immediately he reciprocated, his arms like steel bands across her back but even then she could feel him begin to shake.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they stood there, wrapped up in each other. She would have been happy to help Killian hold himself together for however long he needed. Slowly he calmed, his grip loosened until he was merely hugging her and his breathing evened out and remained steady. Finally he pulled back but not away and even though she knew he hadn’t actually shed a tear his eyes were red rimmed and glassy. She was pretty sure she looked about the same.

“I’m sor-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she stressed, gripping the shirt at his sides in her hands, “Never about that.”

He let out an unsteady breath and gave her a short nod. Releasing his shirt she slid her arms around him again, trying for comfort instead of sharing the burden of his pain. Seeming to realize this he returned her hug with a gentle sigh, resting his cheek against her hair.

“Liam was the one driving,” he murmured after a moment, tightening his hold on her slightly before letting go and stepping away. He tilted his head back and let out a harsh breath, “It was after our second show in LA and we’d been invited to some lavish party in the hills. It was hosted by someone who had the money to keep the booze and drugs flowing and the influence to keep the police from showing up. We’d gone to dozens of parties like that before without consequence, we had no reason to believe that night would be any different.

“We’d all partaken in the various substances that were offered and when it came time to leave we realized we were in a bit of a bind. Liam insisted that he’d only been drinking and was sober enough to drive. The ass even said the alphabet backwards and walked a straight line to prove it,” he scoffed, scowling. “I didn’t even question it, not really, merely put up a half hearted protest and then poured myself into the car without further thought. Liam in the driver’s, Robin up front with me behind him and Milah behind Liam.”

Killian sighed and it sounded as though he was releasing a breath he’d been holding for over ten years. Emma didn’t hesitate as she reached for him, relieved when his hand slid easily into hers. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply and closed his eyes.

“We were nearly back at the hotel, only a few blocks away really-” his voice wavered and she held his hand tighter, “I had picked a fight with Liam over one of the songs that was to be on our next album. The last thing I remember was seeing his eyes in the rear mirror, giving me the annoyed glare I’d seen all my life. That’s when… when...”

Emma watched helplessly as he pressed his lips together and looked up and away from her, as if he was trying to stave off the tears that hadn’t fallen before. She didn’t need him to tell her the rest, she already knew. Liam had run a red light and their rental sedan had been hit on the driver’s side by a truck going nearly fifty. Milah had been killed on impact but Liam had lived long enough to make it to the hospital but not an operating room. Robin and Killian had survived with a few broken bones and superficial cuts but it was clear to her that Killian was still healing.

“Never thought I’d see that poster again-” he said gruffly, half turning back towards the building, “let alone covered with our signatures. Did you know that Liam spent hours working on his? Claimed he wanted to be able to quickly do the autographs for fans but I suspect it was to practice his flourishes. Always took up half the posters, the ponce.”

When he looked back at her he tried to give her a smile but it faded quickly. She let her thumb caress the back of his hand, even though she wanted to pull him back into a hug and never let him go.

He looked down at their joined hands and gave a small huff, his grip tightening, “You’re the first person I’ve told the whole story to aside from my therapist. The first person I’ve wanted to tell, really.”

She didn’t know what to say to that but she didn’t need to. Killian’s eyes flickered to hers for a moment before he bent his head and brought their joined hands to his lips. Goosebumps erupted down her arm despite the Texas heat and she couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped. His gaze snapped back to hers and he straightened slowly, moving a step closer as he did.

For an impossibly long moment too many thoughts raced through her head, questioning what she hoped was about to happen. The only thing that steadied her was somehow seeing the same hesitation, the same tempered desire, in Killian’s too blue eyes. That more than anything had her reaching up with her free hand to caress his cheek before pressing up on her toes to press her lips to his.

There was no hesitation as Killian sighed into her. His mouth was warm against hers but his hand was warmer as it slid from her hip to her lower back, pulling her close. The surprised noise she made was lost to his groan as he deepened the kiss. It was a sound she decided she would gladly work hard at getting him to repeat.

As she happily let herself get lost in the heady sensation of his touch she vaguely noted how he was able to make her feel as though she was vibrating. It was another few moments before she realized that it was her phone and not just his considerable skill that was making her skin tingle. She pulled back, gasping, but kept the grip she had on his shoulder as she reached behind her. He didn’t seem to realize what she was doing. Instead he focused his ministrations on her neck, forcing a moan from her throat as she pulled her phone free and tapped it against the hand that was only inches from the back pocket it’d been in.

“Phone,” she protested breathlessly, even as she tilted her head to give him better access, “Killian, I gotta-”

He lifted his head and looked at her with hooded eyes that cleared marginally as he nodded. She nearly tossed her phone to the ground when his gaze flickered to her lips and he licked his own. The insistent buzzing in her hand was the only thing that stopped her.

Glancing at the screen she felt as though a bucket of cold water was dumped over her head at the sight of Regina’s name. She stepped away from Killian as she swiped to answer, turning in the direction she thought their broken down bus was sitting.

“Uh, hi?”

“You and your band have ten minutes to get back to that bus. The rental is in your name so you will be the only one driving it. Go straight to the venue, no pit stops and no going to the hotel first. You have three hours to sound check.”

Emma scowled at nothing as the call disconnected, annoyed that Regina hadn’t even acknowledged her in any way. She checked the time on her phone and saw that Anton had tried to warn her with texts she’d been too wrapped up in Killian to notice. Turning back to him her frown deepened at the sight of him rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, looking nervous.

He cleared his throat before gesturing between them, “That was...”

“A one time thing?” She asked, hating how uncertain she sounded.

“No!” He burst out, surprising her as he leapt forward and grabbed her hand. His other hand cupped her cheek, “At least I hope not. No, I was merely going to say that it wasn’t my intention for things to escalate as they did. I don’t regret it, though, not one moment.”

“Me either,” she said with a smile. He mirrored her but as he began to lean forward she stopped him with a hand on his chest, “Woah there, tiger, we’re gonna have to wait. Regina says we need to get back to the bus.”

He lightly pressed his lips to her hairline and sighed, “That’s perhaps for the best, love, we might have scandalized the locals out in the open like this.”

She snorted a laugh and because she could she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before backing away. He stared at her with a dazed look in his eye, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She let her own smile unfurl as she sent a quick text to Will and Tink to get them back to the bus.

“Come on-” she grabbed his hand and headed in the direction of the road, “I really don’t want to get on Regina’s bad side by being late to sound check.”

“Swan, wait-” he tugged on her hand, pulling her to a stop, “Didn’t you have things set aside for purchase in there?”

“Nothing important,” she said with a shrug. He narrowed his eyes at her and she rolled hers back at him, “I promise. Just some random records I thought might be interesting. We don’t have time to go back and figure out where to pay for them anyway. I was serious about Regina.”

“If you’re certain…”

“Yep, so let’s go. We still have to get Anton’s giant coffee.”

Killian gave her another skeptical look but she ignored it, leading him back the way they’d come.

Later that night, when she dragged herself onto the repaired bus after their show, she was only mildly surprised to see the pile of records she’d left behind at the antique mall sitting on her bunk. What was a surprise was the long stemmed red rose laying across the top of them. Biting her lip against the grin that threatened to split her face in two she realized she couldn’t wait until the next time she would be able to get Killian alone again.

#captain swan #captain swan fan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fan fiction #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fan fic #ouat ff #my writing

16 notes · View notes

snidgetsafan · 4 years ago

Text

Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

Rating: T

Summary: What happens when you put two drunk cops and two aggravated siblings in a room with only one bunk bed? Cuddles, revelations and amazing maid of honor and best man speeches.

A twist on the “omg there was only one bed” trope. But not on the ending. (AO3)

Notes: Me being my usual dumbass self. But hey, I wrote! Hey, I finished a WIP from 2018! Did I mention I wrote?

Thanks to @shireness-says for her amazing beta skills!

Wordcount: 4.6k

-------------------

“To Killian and Emma, the best bloody bail bonds people on the East Coast!” Liam toasts, raising his green monstrosity of a cocktail in the air and clinking it against Emma’s pint. David has the same concoction in hand, the result of a bet with his partner that they couldn’t handle the barman’s specialty, a cocktail by the name of Teakerbell, a chalkboard behind the bar declaring it “a one way ticket to Neverland, sure to give you happy thoughts and make you see stars!” The only ingredients listed were “tequila, gin, vodka and a pinch (or four) of pixie dust” - an apparent play on a Long Island Iced Tea. Clever. Emma doesn’t know what gives it its obnoxious shade of green, and she doesn’t want to know.

She can feel Killian’s shoulder shift against her own in the cramped booth as he raises his glass of soda to give his own toast. “To David and Liam, the biggest mother hens anyone could wish for!”

Emma laughs as the two Joneses start to squabble like children, sharing an amused look with David at the two men’s antics, and finally relaxes. It’s been a hell of a day.

Killian and she had set out from Boston early that morning after an informant had called them; Jake Hillehide, one of their most elusive skips, had finally reappeared in Rockport, a small town on the coast. Once they’d arrived in town, it hadn’t taken them long to find their man, tracking him down to a decrepit building near the docks. He had proved trickier to subdue than they had anticipated, but after a short struggle that left everyone involved with bruises and Killian with a cut on his cheek, they’d managed to cuff him, ignoring his insults and threats.

It was just as they were getting ready to leave that the door had been kicked open, and both Liam and David had burst into the room, guns drawn and ready to rescue their siblings, only to find they were late to the show.

Apparently Mr. Hillehide, under different names, was wanted in eight states for drug trafficking and numerous acts of violence. Both police officers, worried that Killian and Emma had been walking into something they couldn’t handle, had rushed upstate instead of, you know, calling them.

“As if you’d have listened,” Liam had scoffed when Emma had reasonably (at least in her own opinion) pointed that out.

And now here they are, sat in the town’s tourist bar (the Jolly Roger , of course Killian wouldn’t resist) after handing Hillehide over to the local police and filing the paperwork to make sure they got their check (their hefty check). Liam had insisted on Killian seeing a doctor for his cut to make sure he didn’t need any stitches. He didn’t, but it would probably scar; at least, that’s what the pretty doctor had said while standing unprofessionally close to her partner (in Emma’s completely unbiased opinion). David’s quip about “chicks digging scars” hadn’t helped in the slightest.

They’ll have a drink or two, get to the hostel, book another room, and head back to Boston first thing tomorrow morning. Simple.

______________

“Think of the happiest thiiiiings, it’s the same as having wiiiings!”

As she hauls her drunk brother down the corridor towards her and her partner’s room, Emma almost, almost lets him fall as he stumbles for the umpteenth time, too focused on his warbling to look where he is going. This time, he almost manages to trip her up too, making her swear in exasperation as he sings about being able to fly. If only; she’d let him float to the ceiling and leave . him. there .

“You alright, love?” Killian asks as he drags his own sibling, who – while just as drunk – is mercifully quieter, his mumbling too low for Emma to understand what he is saying.

Propping a now yawning David next to the door, Emma uses the key card to unlock it, pulling on her brother’s arm to make him enter the small room, closely followed by Killian and Liam.

“Oh no no no, you don’t,” she says as David starts trying to climb the ladder towards the upper bunk, his foot fumbling for the first rung. “Lower bed it is for you, buddy, I’m not explaining to your fiancée how you broke your neck in a hostel in Rockport.”

Ignoring her brother’s whining that he always takes the upper bed, she steers him towards the lower bunk, sitting him down to take off his shoes, not listening to his protests that he is not tired as he fumbles to take his jacket off. Sighing once again, Emma straightens up to help him, being careful not to bump her head on the metal frame.

Not tired, my ass , she thinks as she witnesses David, Boston’s 15th precinct’s best detective, lie down and snuggle a pillow with the drunkest smile she has ever seen.

How the hell did we get here , she thinks as she sees Killian struggle with his own cuddly brother out of the corner of her eye.

Nothing had been simple. David and Liam, despite their builds, had shown that neither of them, in fact, could handle their Teakerbells, leaving Killian and Emma to drag them back to the hostel. The plan had been to book either a second room or a bigger one, but once they had gotten to the hostel, they had been told that no other room was available in the building, or even in town, as some cheese festival was taking place that weekend and everywhere in the area was swamped. Killian and Emma had actually been lucky to get a room this late, according to the receptionist. Emma fails to see the luck in cramming four grown adults, two of them hammered, into a tiny room with a twin bunk bed, but oh well.

Running her hand through her hair as Killian wrestles a rambling Liam in bed next to David, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. There’s only one bed left for the two of them. A single bed. For two grown adults. Who will have to squeeze in to fit.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, she thinks desperately to herself.

Killian chooses that moment to turn around, his eyes immediately finding Emma’s as snores start to sound in the room. As usual, her partner seems to read her without her having to say anything. Scratching behind his ear, he tells her, “Take the bed, love, I’ll get a few blankets and a pillow and settle on the floor for the night.”

Emma’s spine straightens as she stares at the man in front of her, exasperated by his ridiculous notions of chivalry. “As if I’d let you sleep on the floor,” she scoffs, putting her hands on her hips.

“I assure you, Swan, it’s quite fine. I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“Oh, have you?” she asks, taking a step towards him so they don’t wake up their siblings.

“Of course I have. Don’t you remember last Halloween?” he retorts, quirking his eyebrow as he slightly leans forward.

“I do, Jones. I do remember you sleeping on the floor in the living room. What I don’t remember is you sleeping right under two drunk guys who will probably want to puke their guts out some time during the night.”

This gives Killian pause. “Ah.”

“‘Ah’ indeed, genius. Now, if you want to be in their line of fire, feel free to ask reception for blankets. If not, then get ready for bed and up to safety in the upper bunk.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, love,” he insists, scratching behind his ear.

“You won’t, I’m the one proposing we sleep in the same bed.”

“Well, in that case, if you’re sure…”

“I am, otherwise I wouldn’t be suggesting it. You should know that by now, Jones.”

“Aye, Swan, I know,” Killian says, a soft smile playing on his lips. Before the moment can become more than a simple conversation between two colleagues who are about to sleep in the same bed, Emma grabs her bag from the desk in the corner and goes to the bathroom to prepare for the night. She’s glad her emergency overnight bag includes sweatpants and a T-shirt as night clothes, and not her usual shorts and cami. She’s already going to have to cuddle up to Killian for a whole night; she doesn’t know how she’d handle skin to skin contact.

She has known Killian for five years now, since he got discharged from the Navy and came to live in Boston near his brother. She had met him after he had been hired by Robin, her boss. They had clicked professionally from the start, forming “quite the team”, as Killian had said early on. On a more personal level however, she had kept walls between them, not letting him get too close. She had known from the start he was a dangerous one, with his smoldering blue eyes and smooth voice. A guy like that could only mean trouble. She’d been there, she’d done that, and she’d regretted it.

But as years passed, and as she’d come to know him, he’d managed to slowly slip through her walls, and before she’d realized what was going on, her attraction for him had turned into unshakeable feelings. Unshakeable feelings that she’s managed to keep to herself until now; she can’t let them cloud her judgement, too much is at stake here – not only her work relationship with Killian, but also their friendship. She values it too much to put it at risk.

Once she’s finished with both her nightly routine and with her thoughts, she exits the bathroom to find Killian waiting for his turn to use it. With a quick smile they switch places, their arms brushing in the small space. Emma checks on the two drunkards, who are either asleep or passed out, laying there in uncomfortable-looking positions. She finds she is too annoyed with them to care. As long as they are still breathing, she’ll consider them to be fine. Once she has put her bag back on the desk (against the wall, as far as possible from the two idiots) and adjusted the trashcan Killian had already placed next to Liam’s head, she climbs to the top bunk to wait for Killian to join her.

She can do this, she totally can.

______________

She can’t do this, Emma thinks, staring at the wall twenty minutes later, her spine ramrod straight and her shoulders stiff in an effort not to touch Killian. Her efforts are in vain, though; even if their skin isn’t touching, she can still feel the heat of his body under the covers, radiating like a furnace.

She had previously imagined sleeping in the same bed as Killian, but certainly not under these circumstances: awkwardly, in a cramped twin bed and with both of their brothers sleeping right under them. One of them – probably Liam – is snoring, making it close to impossible to fall asleep.

Oh, who is she kidding, even if the room was completely silent she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of getting a wink of sleep tonight.

Get a hold of yourself, Swan , she thinks determinedly. Are you really going to spend the night like this?

“Killian, you asleep?” she asks over her shoulder, adding a little shove with her elbow to punctuate her question.

“I don’t see how that would be possible with the power drill sleeping under us,” comes the droll reply.

Emma snorts at that, relaxing marginally. At least she’s not alone in her suffering. She shuffles around, turning to face Killian where he lies on his back, his arm behind his head. Propping her head on her fist, she looks down at him, the blue of his eyes visible in the dim light coming from the half-open bathroom door, so our dear brothers can run towards the light when they need to ‘ puke their guts out ’, as you so eloquently put it, Swan .

A particularly loud snore echoes through the room, making both sorrowfully awake people close their eyes in aggravation.

“Who do you think it is?” Emma asks, her eyes still closed.

Killian snorts. “Oh definitely Liam. That tosser has always snored loud enough to make the walls shake when he gets hammered.”

Emma chuckles, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Once again, the blonde’s eyes are drawn to Killian’s face, and she spots the cut on his cheek, held by a couple of butterfly bandages. He’d gotten it while pushing her out of the way of one of Hillehide’s punches – which had not been necessary, as she had seen it coming. The distraction had helped them subdue their target, though, as he had tripped, allowing Emma to cuff him as Killian held him down. Quite the team indeed.

Emma slowly raises her hand, thumbing at the cut, ignoring the way Killian’s breath catches. It’ll probably scar , she thinks absently. Out loud, she says, “You didn’t have to push me away, you know. I know how to duck.”

“Aye, I know,” Killian whispers back. “Doesn’t mean I won’t do anything in my power to make sure you never come to harm.”

“Such a gentleman,” Emma teases.

“Always, Swan,” he smiles back, before sobering. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, love.”

All the ar whooshes out of her at his declaration, because that’s what it is, isn’t it? The meaning of his words, as well as the way he’s turned his head away, scratching behind his ear as he licks his lips in a frustrated way; he clearly thinks he’s said too much. But he hasn’t. Emma realizes in that moment that she’s not the only one who has been concealing their feelings.

And yet, has he, really? All his little gestures, the compliments he constantly showers her with, never expecting anything in return. And the smile that she’s never seen him direct at anyone else but her. She had thought she was imagining it, that it was simply wishful thinking, but with those few words, he’s just revealed it wasn’t.

Uh, so she’s not the only one with feelings. Figures.

With that realization, Emma feels joy fill her. No, not joy, elation . Before she can second guess herself, she cups Killian’s cheek, turns his face towards hers and leans down to kiss him.

Emma is surprised by how soft Killian’s lips are as she caresses them softly with her own for a few blissful seconds before leaning back. Her partner is staring at her, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes search hers for an explanation of what just happened. Did she make a mistake, did she misinterpret the signals? she thinks with growing panic.

Before she can question her actions even further, Killian pounces. There is no other word for it, honestly; he surges up, sliding his hand into her hair to cushion her fall as he pushes her onto her back, hovering over her as his lips devour hers. It’s like a dam has burst, all his passion and pent-up desire sweeping over her as their mouths meld together. She’d be happy to never have to come up for air, she thinks as his tongue asks for entrance, a request she happily grants.

Emma slides the hand still cupping Killian’s cheek into his hair, her fingers stroking his scalp, causing him to groan in her mouth. Her other arm loops around his waist, her fingers scratching down his back. Her partner retaliates by nipping her lower lip before soothing the sting with his tongue.

She can’t get enough of him, she thinks frantically as she urges him closer by tightening her arm around his waist, taking advantage of the occasion to – finally – grab a handful of his glorious ass, squeezing it and eliciting another groan. She should have known he’d be as much of a talker in bed as outside it. They separate when the need to breathe becomes too much, but Killian doesn’t seem ready to let her go, his lips trailing down her cheek before he burrows his face into her neck, planting kisses down it. His position gives her the opportunity to do something she has wanted to do for months, nibbling on his earlobe before scraping her teeth across that spot behind his ear that he always scratches when he’s flustered.

At that action, Killian lets out a loud moan, his hips twitching against her thigh. They both freeze, suddenly remembering they aren’t alone in the room. But the snores continue uninterrupted as they listen tensely. They’re in the clear, Emma thinks after a few seconds.

The pause gives them a moment to cool down a little bit. Killian raises his head, trailing his nose up her cheek before leaning his forehead against hers, their noses touching.

“That was…” Emma breathes, not finding the words to describe what just transpired.

Killian chuckles, nudging his nose with hers. “It was, wasn’t it?”

She can’t stop touching him, now that she can. He doesn’t seem to be doing much better, as his fingers keep carding through her hair, the tingles his movements create spreading down her spine.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” Killian confesses, his nose gliding along Emma’s as he makes no move to roll off her. Not that she minds.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Emma asks, because really, the man is a well of confidence.

“Well, you didn’t seem to feel the same, and I didn’t want to risk what we had, love. I just… couldn’t risk it.”

Emma’s heart swells as she hears her earlier thoughts repeated back to her. We’ve been stupid, haven’t we , she thinks amusedly, looking at Killian in the half-light and seeing the smile bloom on his face as she says as much. Her partner doesn’t answer her with words, though, leaning down to kiss her once more instead, letting her taste the smile on his lips.

This kiss is much softer, even if still as intense as the first. Emma has a feeling that all their kisses will be like that, that they’ll never stop being breathtaking. She’s surprised to realize that thinking of her and Killian in the future doesn’t scare her one bit; quite the contrary, she can’t wait. It’s the last thing she thinks before every thought leaves her mind to be replaced by Killian and heat and more .

Killian seems to be of the same mind, as he lowers himself on top of her, one of his thighs between her own, creating delicious friction that sends sparks flying through her whole body as they continue to kiss, this time making sure to be quiet. Hands start to roam, finding their way under clothes and stroking skin, lighting a fire under their skin that can only be quenched by more . More kissing, more skin, more shared breaths.

Just as Killian finally, finally inches his hand over her breast, softly stroking her skin as he goes, a moan that comes from neither of them rends the air, making both lovers freeze in guilty dread as Liam jumps out of bed, rushing for the bathroom, loudly knocking the trashcan to the floor and causing David to grumble unhappily.

If the sudden movement and noise hadn’t killed the mood, then the sounds of Liam retching clearly do. With a heavy sigh, Killian removes his hands from under Emma’s shirt, before rubbing his nose against hers one last time.

“Guess I better go make sure the git doesn’t die,” he says with a rueful smile that widens upon hearing Emma’s whine.

“Do you have to?” she asks, pouting dramatically as she clutches harder at his back.

“Yes I do, think of the paperwork otherwise, darling.”

Oh, he’s playing dirty, he knows how much she hates paperwork. Emma relents, dropping her arms to the bed, still pouting.

(Doesn’t stop her from staring at his ass as he goes to the bathroom.)

______________

The next day dawns brightly a few hours later. Even though they only slept for a few hours, Emma wakes up refreshed and full of energy, despite the fact that she hasn’t had her coffee yet.

Waking up entwined in Killian’s arms probably helps. Turning her head to look up at him and finding him already awake and staring at her with a dopey smile doesn’t hurt either.

(She knows she has the same smile on her face, but she’ll never admit to it.)

“Good morning, love. Have a good night?” her partner asks, stroking her cheek and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I did. You?”

“The very best.”

They smile happily at each other for several moments. But can they be blamed? Not even twelve hours earlier, Emma would have never hoped to be where she is now, safe and warm in Killian’s arms after a night spent together. If he hadn’t made his feelings known by accident, they would never have dared taking a leap of faith with each other. Now that they have, Emma can’t understand why they didn’t take it sooner; she doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy, and it hasn’t even been a full day.

A snore interrupts their moment once more, reminding them of the presence of their brothers barely a few feet below. It’s only a matter of a few moments to get down, and the vision that greets them has Killian and Emma struggling to stifle a laugh. David and Liam are still dead to the world, but they’ve moved during the night. David is now spooning Liam, his hand resting comfortably on his pectoral, and both men sport happy smiles, even if Liam is drooling onto his pillow.

In true sibling fashion, both Emma and Killian take pictures before Killian wakes up the two men while Emma films. And oh boy, were they right to record it.

David is the first to wake, his first instinct being to scoot closer to Liam, rubbing his shoulder and mumbling about Mary Margaret’s archery practice giving her amazing arms before realizing that he’s not holding his 5 foot 5 fiancée but his 6 foot partner. His reaction is golden, as he shoves the elder Jones out of the bed, swearing profusely before clutching his head, his hangover catching up to him.

Liam’s befuddled expression as he wonders how he got on the floor is even better.

“Aw man, my maid of honor speech is going to be awesome,” Emma crows triumphantly. Seriously, these thirty seconds make up for the last night, puking included. She’s never going to let them live this down.

______________

Emma’s good mood continues onto breakfast, where her cheese-covered hashbrowns taste even better with a side of karmic justice. Liam and David are positively miserable, heads bowed over their plates, David hugging his coffee mug while Liam chugs down Coke like his life depends on it. The older Jones had only raised his head to glare at his brother when he’d asked for the third time if he wouldn’t prefer some iced tea to soda so early in the morning.

“It’s Alice’s iced tea, brother! That way you can move from Neverland straight into Wonderland! No?”

The fact Killian’s leg is pressing against her own under the table might also add to her good mood.

The end of her good mood coincides with the chiming of Liam’s phone. It’s a text from his “just-a-friend” Elsa, his neighbor and totally-not-anything-more. (The routine would be more effective if they hadn’t been caught making out in dark corners. Multiple times.)

And Killian has to open his big mouth.

“Tell me, brother, how does the dear Ms. Arendelle bear with your completely obnoxious snoring?”

And that’s when Emma sees it. The most wicked, vindictive, vicious grin appears on Liam’s face, as he keeps his head down. Uh oh.

“I don’t snore, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because half of the hostel last night could tell you what I’m talking about. Bloody hell, I thought the bed was going to collapse under the noise alone.”

The grin gets wider, takes on a triumphant edge as Liam finally raises his head to meet his brother’s gaze, with a quick look towards her. Why – oh no.

“Funny you should mention that, brother , I thought the same thing last night. You and Emma were making quite the ruckus, weren’t you?”

Oh no. No, no, triple fucking no this can’t be happening. No!

“What?” Killian says, clearly caught wrong-footed.

“What?!” David erupts, emerging from his hashbrowns like Brotherly Fury Coming Out of His Well of Gravy.

Emma doesn’t say anything, too caught up in the horror of what has become her reality. Liam knows. Liam was not sleeping.

Liam is still talking, the complete bastard.

“I woke up feeling queasy last night, and before I could get up, can you imagine my surprise at hearing you speaking about your feeeeeeeeelings with the object of your affections. At last! I thought, proud to know that my baby brother’s balls had finally dropped after 29 years, just before I was treated to the sappiest, most saccharine declaration ever. So sweet, little brother, that it literally made me sick.”

Since Killian is too busy imitating a fish out of water next to her, it falls down to Emma to react before Mount David erupts. She has to deny it all, tell him it was a drunken dream, she has to tell him –

“You were awake this whole time, and you didn’t say anything? You – you perverted fuck! What the hell, Liam?!”

– not that.

Not that, because the asshole, no, the monster sitting next to her purple-with-rage brother turns his gleeful smile on her, clearly enjoying the fuck out of himself, his hangover all but forgotten.

“But it was so touching, Emma! How could I block the path of true love? After all, like my brother said, he’s ‘wanted to do that for years’.” answers Liam, before turning towards his partner. “And oh, they did, Dave.” Another “ what?!? ” escapes David’s mouth, who’s now taken to staring at Killian like he’s just killed a puppy in front of him.

“Oh my god, Liam, shut up !” Killian and Emma exclaim in unison, to the elder Jones’ delight.

“Aw, look at you two, already in sync! What was it you were saying this morning Emma? My best man speech is going to be awesome. ”

Hell fucking no .

______________

2 years, 3 months and 17 days later.

“...And so let me conclude with a toast: to Killian and Emma, the most nauseating couple on the East Coast!” Liam crows, raising his glass of champagne as the whole room does the same, laughing at the bride and groom’s mortified expressions.

The jackass did recount the whole story in front of their family and friends, even daring to take credit for their relationship by pushing them to share a bed. As if passing out on the bottom bunk bed had been deliberate, Killian had groused, his ears tomato red, as Liam had talked over him to the amusement of everyone.

And yet Emma can’t find it in her to be truly mad at her new brother-in-law, a small thrill coursing through her everytime she catches the glint on her left hand or on Killian’s. Her husband .

There’s also the fact that her dear, dear brother-in-law’s own bachelor party is coming in two months’ time, and that she’s managed to wrangle the recipe of the Teakerbell from the Rockport bartender.

And Elsa has asked her to be a maid of honor.

#captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #snidgetwrites

69 notes · View notes

ilovemesomekillianjones · 5 years ago

Text

Good Things Come to Those Who Talk

It’s been a long time since I’ve written, but the muse visited this week, so here is a fluffy and smutty Captain Swan one shot. I’m sure this trope has been written one millions ways, here is one million and one. Hope you like it. Although I am not around as much as I used to be, CS still remains my OTP and always will.

ao3 ffnet rated M 8.9K

Summary: Emma Swan is so over her brother, he warns every cop he knows to stay away from her. She's pined for so long though, she wants Killian Jones, it's just double bad luck that he's a cop and he happens to be David's partner. She decides her brother's wrath is worth the risk to find out if there's something more for her and Killian. Now all she needs is a new dress and a plan.

“Emma Swan, you little slut! What has gotten into you?” Ruby screeched as Emma pulled the door to her home open.

“Is it too much?” Emma asked with just a touch of hysteria coloring her voice. She hurried back to her bedroom to give herself the once over… again. Running her hands down the newly purchased, skin tight, black mini dress, she followed each and every curve that was on full display.

“Girl, I would do you if I didn’t already have a girlfriend.”

“Not helping, Ruby!”

“Emma, you look fucking hot, there is not a man on earth that could turn you down in that.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she mumbled under her breath. Tonight was the night. She’d danced around the longing and heat between her and Killian Jones for long enough. She’d been pining for this man for longer than she could remember, half the time they spent together felt like they were a couple anyway. She already knew her stupid brother, David, had warned Killian Jones to stay away from her, but there was nothing stopping her from putting the moves on Killian Jones. She just hoped Ruby was right, that no man would be able to resist her, including the one who’d been threatened with death if he so much as laid one finger on her. Emma was undeniably hoping for far more than one finger. A shiver jolted through her and she was brought back to the present.

“Someone’s got it baaaad,” Ruby teased. “You gonna make your move tonight?”

“That’s the plan,” Emma said as she grabbed her knee length black leather jacket and tied it closed. She pulled her flowing, golden tresses from the jacket and tossed them over her shoulders.

“Well then let’s get this party started!” With that, Ruby grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her back to the front of the house and out the door.

The Rabbit Hole was their favorite local pub, and the only place to celebrate the hot shot detectives who’d made the biggest bust this city had ever seen. Of course it was the hot shot team of Detectives Nolan and Jones to bring down the infamous Robert “The Deal Maker” Gold and his outfit of miscreants. Earlier this morning, both men had received the Medal of Valor, for extraordinary acts of bravery and heroism, performed in the line of duty at extreme life-threatening, personal risk, their Captain had said.

Emma remembered that day three weeks ago, when she’d received the call from her sister-in-law. The baby had been wailing in the background as Mary Margaret had tried to tell Emma, through choked sobs that David was in the hospital. No doubt the little guy had been so upset because his mama was having a justified meltdown.

When Emma had arrived, Killian was in the waiting room, a little bloodied, bruised, and banged up, but he’d insisted on waiting for her before letting the doctors examine him. He’d wanted to let her know that David was in surgery, but he’d be okay, and Mary Margaret had just left to drop her two year old off at Belle’s so he didn’t have to wait in the ER. It wasn’t until Killian’s body had slumped against hers that Emma realized he wasn’t doing as well as he’d pretended. She’d found out later, Killian had been hit by Gold’s car as the fiend had tried to make a run for it.

Emma doesn’t like to think about the panic she’d felt as he was hauled behind the swinging doors of the ER. She doesn’t like to remember the tears that had fallen when the thought that she’d never gotten to tell him how she felt for him, crossed her mind. She especially doesn’t like to think about how he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks now, and she’d still been too chicken shit to even ask him out on a date, let alone tell him that she’s crazy about him.

Once Killian’s internal bleeding had stopped and he was cleared to go home, she’d helped him convalesce through a dislocated shoulder and severely bruised ribs. He’d gotten remarkably lucky considering he was hit by a car. Hours of flirting and bantering, movies on his couch, meals together, and she hadn’t scraped together the courage to tell him how she felt. She’d picked him up and attended the medal pinning with him today, and still she couldn’t find any words to tell him how she felt. When he’d come down off the stage, walked toward her and scooped her up into a bear hug, all she’d come up with was how proud she was of him. Even though it was true, there was so much more she wanted to say. And she’d known long before any of this had happened, she’d just never considered moving past her fear of rejection or risking their friendship for a chance at something more until she’d felt like she might lose him.

That thought made her feel pretty shitty. But that’s when she’d decided a few things. Emma Swan was shit with words. Actions speak louder than words. Tonight was the night. And she needed a new dress.

Taking a deep breath as the car pulled into the parking lot, to center her thoughts, fortify her determination, and get her collective shit together, Emma stepped out of Ruby’s car with something akin to hope.

Upon entering the noisy bar, she searched for the woman who’d be lending her an assist tonight. Regina and her husband Robin, a retired police officer, now owned this bar. They were close personal friends with Emma’s brother’s family, as David’s former partner, and by extension, with the whole group. Regina would be the one taking care of their party tonight. Emma needed to square some drinking details away with the woman and then she’d be mission ready. After talking to Regina, she glanced around the crowded bar, searching for the man of the hour. Whatever confidence or hope had been building, promptly deflated as she located Killian, only to find him sitting at the bar with some handsy redhead whispering in his ear.

“Emma!” She heard Mary Margaret’s voice call out from across the bar, but she couldn’t turn, she was transfixed, watching as the woman ran a finger along Killian’s jawline. It gave her just an ounce of pleasure when he removed her hand from his vicinity and placed it on the bar. The mystery woman was undeterred though as she placed her hand on his chest next.

Mary Margaret called her name again, louder this time, and Emma noticed it caught Killian’s attention as he began to scan the bar. When his eyes met hers, they immediately lit up and he mouthed the word help, with desperation in his every feature. Emma’s confidence restored, she sashayed toward him with renewed determination.

Goddamn, she thought as she appreciated how Killian’s royal blue button down shirt and black slacks were tailored to his body. She bit down on her lip when she noted that he definitely had his customary one too many buttons undone and was displaying that magically delicious thatch of chest hair she’d imagined running her hands through just a couple times. Sauntering right in between the two, she settled in the spot of his perpetually manspread legs and placed her palms on his thighs, leaving her back to the other woman.

“Hey Sexy, where’ve you been all my life?” she asked in the sexiest tone she could muster while also trying not to crack up as she laid it on thick for the woman trying to steal her man. What?

“Right here, waiting for you, love,” Killian answered, wrapping an arm around her waist. The man didn’t miss a beat.

Emma couldn’t be bothered to feel bad as she rubbed her palms over his muscular thighs which currently rested on her hips. She had a mission tonight, and this floozy behind her had been throwing herself at Killian.

“I’m so lucky someone didn’t come and scoop you up before I got here.”

Emma almost melted when he came right back with, “No one else is you.”

She knew this man, had known him for several years. She knew when he was playing a long con, when he was bullshitting, when he was joking, when he was serious, and when he was sincere. Her heartbeat stuttered as his earnest expression dared her to believe him. Just at that moment, the drinks Killian had ordered arrived. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the three beer bottles in one hand and taking his hand in her other.

“Let me order a couple more, now that the rest of you are here.”

Emma leaned in to whisper in his ear, “And leave you at the mercy of Hands, I don’t think so.” If she wasn’t mistaken, Killian actually shivered, and she wondered how bad it had gotten before she’d arrived. When she stepped back though, she noticed a bright flush along Killian’s cheeks, and she wondered if she wasn’t causing that shiver and blush. “I’ll order when the server comes around.”

Emma was positively rippling with anticipation of what Killian would think of her dress as they walked over to the private room Mary Margaret had reserved for tonight. The bar had several private rooms off each corner of the bar, they were a little less noisy, and perfect for celebratory drinks. This one had a large round booth and table in it, so Emma slid in next to her brother, pulling Killian in behind her. Strategically speaking, she was hoping David couldn’t stare daggers at Killian from this angle, like he always did when Emma and Killian were hanging out and getting too close for his comfort. She didn’t need her stupid brother ruining her plans.

“Here love, you can have this beer,” Killian offered as they sat down.

“That’s okay, I can wait for the server.” Emma was not in the mood to get drunk, at least not drunk for real. “Are Will and Belle still coming tonight?” Emma asked as she untied her jacket and leaned forward to take it off while still seated in the confines of the booth.

Killian audibly choked on the swig of beer he’d been taking when he caught a glimpse of all the skin Emma was now showing. One false move and there could be a nip slip, really.

“Hey, Jones, you okay there buddy? Emma, quick, give him mouth to mouth, he’s choking,” she harassed.

Emma shot her a look before slapping Killian on the back a couple times. “My ribs,” he croaked once he’d finished hacking and coughing.

Emma preened as she noticed he still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You gonna be okay?” she asked, turning fully toward Killian as she soothingly rubbed her hand along his rib cage.

“Love your new dress, Ems,” Ruby exclaimed, adding fuel to multiple fires.

“New dress? Are you sure you got the whole thing?” David fumed. “Looks more like a tank top to me. And yes, to answer your question from before, Will and Belle are coming, their Lyft was running late.”

Emma looked over her shoulder to scowl at her brother, and he scowled right back. “I happen to like this dress, David,” she said, saying his name as pettily as any sister could, “what about you Killian. Do you like my new dress?”

Killian’s hand immediately shot up to scratch behind his ear, but before he could even speak a word, David leaned forward, peered around Emma and stared those oh so familiar daggers at Killian.

“Oh stop it, David,” Mary Margaret chided her husband.

“Oi mates, hope you didn’t start the party without me,” Will shouted as he and Belle entered the room. He and Belle scooted into the booth next to Ruby and Mulan, and Emma was thankful they’d arrived before David could start ranting about not wanting his sister to date a cop.

Emma, Mary Margaret, Belle, and Ruby had all been promised a play by play of the Gold bust now that the case was finalized, Gold had been sentenced, and everyone was healed. Will and Mulan hadn’t been injured, but they’d been part of the task force, and instrumental in the take down. Emma tried not to concentrate too hard on the fact that she was the only female here who wasn’t technically a significant other. Besides, maybe that would change after tonight.

A round of shots was ordered to start the evening and Regina brought them to the table, handing a shot of rum to each guest. They toasted to the takedown of the felon who had run rampant like a virus, for far too long. The story was intense to be sure, and a second round of shots was ordered to toast the health and safety of David, Killian, Mulan, and Will.

When the live band started, they headed for the dance floor and Emma was thankful to have a bit of privacy, albeit in the middle of a crowded dance floor, with Killian. “You cut quite the figure in that dress,” he whispered into her ear.

The band was covering a latin number and Emma melted as Killian pulled her in close. His left hand was on the small of her back and the other held her free hand. Her free hand rested on his chest, right at the juncture of his too unbuttoned shirt.

“I don’t know exactly how to do this… dance,” Emma mumbled as Killian began to move his feet. They were connected at their hips as they swayed with the beat.

“It’s called a mambo; there’s only one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She’d danced with him before and it never ceased to amaze her how well the man could move his body. If he was this fluid and skilled while dancing, what could he do in bed?

“I can see your mind working, Swan. What are you thinking about?”

Emma tried to stop the blush, but she’d definitely been caught ogling him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Perhaps I would,” he admitted while sweeping a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You are blushing,” he added as he trailed the finger down her cheek.

“I was just thinking, if you’re this good on the-” Emma’s breath was knocked from her as David and Mary Margaret careened into them.

“Hey guys,” David shouted over the music, “time for shots.”

Emma just barely stopped herself from yelling at her brother to stop being a cockblock. Instead, she settled for stomping on his foot as she led Killian off the dancefloor. They all lined up at the bar and Regina doled out more shots.

“I’m ready to go home,” Emma slurred into Killian’s shoulder several hours later. “Take me home?”

“Aye, love.”

“I thought Ruby was your ride,” David interrupted.

“No can do, Davey,” Ruby mumbled. “Me and my baby are staying at the hotel across the street so we don’t have to drive and we don’t have to come back for the car tomorrow.

“We will take you home,” David proclaimed, as if someone had died and made him king.

“That’s ridiculous, we’re already taking Belle and Will home,” Mary Margaret told her husband. “Killian hasn’t been drinking for the last two hours, he can take Emma home.”

“Bu-” David started.

“I know we have five seats, but we don’t need to squish five adults into them, when Killian can give Emma a ride.”

Emma snickered at the way Mary Margaret effortlessly handled David.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” David muttered.

After the group said their goodbyes, Emma let Killian lead her to his truck. She pretended to need much more help getting in than she really did. Under the guise of being drunk, Emma found she was much braver. If he turned her down, she could always pretend she was so drunk she didn’t remember, and if he was a gentleman, which he was, he’d never mention it.

Reaching across the space between them, Emma brushed the hair away from his forehead. “I was so worried about you when you were in the hospital,” she whispered, making sure to slur a word here and there.

“I’m sorry I worried you, lass, but you needn’t worry about me.”

“I do worry about you, Killian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, in your inebriated state, I’m sure it’s hard to imagine, but I am sure you’d manage.”

“What a horrible thing to say! I would not be okay if I lost you, I would never be okay.”

Killian clasped his hand over hers, which had been idly stroking his cheek. “Shhh, love, there’s no need to discuss this topic anyway. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s surviving.”

Killian pulled into her driveway and hastily exited to help her down from the truck. She definitely put more weight on him than was strictly necessary and sloppily handed him the keys to unlock her door.

“Someone is going to be feeling like shite in the morning,” Killian laughed.

Emma played it up, and allowed Killian to get Tylenol and water for her as she stripped out of her dress and hopped into her bed.

“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” he checked as he set her hangover supplies on her nightstand.

Emma caught his hand as he went to put it in his pocket. “Stay with me?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Emma asked sweetly, looking up at him with all the hope she felt inside written clearly on her face.

Killian exhaled a long sigh as only a man who knows he’s lost can. Circling around the bed, he started to climb in behind her.

“You’re not going to sleep in jeans, are you?”

“I don’t exactly have sleepwear at my disposal, Swan. And you’re sleeping in your dress.”

Emma laughed at that, that’s what he thinks. “Take off your jeans, boxer briefs are just like shorts.” She grinned triumphantly as she heard the metal of his belt and the rustling of pants being dropped.

Once he was settled in her bed, she turned over and snuggled against him. The groan he emitted when she did so shot a bolt of heat straight to her core. She knew he was just as affected as she was, and that was hot.

“Emma, please, you’re making it very hard fo-”

“That’s kinda the point,” she giggled, pressing her body against his and snaking her free hand into the opening of his shirt to rake it through his chest hair.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Poor choice of words,” he corrected as he scooted away from her advances. “We can’t do this.”

Emma immediately felt the sting of his words in her chest, like someone was gripping her heart, or worse, like someone had taken it and she was hollow. A flurry of emotions ran through her as she tried to assure herself she still had her failsafe of “being drunk”. She searched for words. “Why? Because of my stupid brother?” she demanded, her voice a little more watery than angry.

“This has nothing to do with your brother, Swan.”

“Then… why?” Emma sat up in bed and pulled the blankets tightly around her body, as if they’d protect her from whatever hurtful reason he had for not wanting her.

“Because you’re drunk and-”

“Well-” Emma interrupted.

“No, wait, let me finish. Before I lose my nerve.”

Emma frowned at him, but complied by sitting quietly.

“You’ve been drinking all night love, and I would never forgive myself if I took advantage of you in this state and then you regretted it in the morning, if you regretted me. I… I’m crazy about you Emma, I have been for a long time. I don’t want a drunken one night stand with you, hell, I don’t want any kind of one night stand with you. I want… more.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she asked softly.

“Short answer? I’m a coward.”

“What if I want to know the extended version?” she asked as she patted the seat next to her and offered him part of the blankets so he could join her.

Killian got back into the bed and sat up against the headboard as Emma was. “I guess I’ve hid behind your brother’s warning to stay away from you. I mean, he’s not wrong, it can be a hard life being with a cop. Look what happened with Gold. I also worried about jeopardizing our friendship, especially if you didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“Why now?”

Killian chuckled before answering her. “You being drunk gives me the courage to say how I feel, because you might not even remember this in the morning.”

Emma dropped all pretense of being inebriated and leaned forward so she was looking straight into the depths of the eyes she dreamed about almost nightly. “Let’s get something straight, okay? I could never regret you, Killian Jones.” Placing a hand softly on his cheek, she smiled at the awestruck look on his face. “And also, I haven’t had a drink all night. I paid Regina to fill my shots with apple juice. I just needed the cover of liquid courage to try and seduce you because I am shit with words. And I figured if you didn’t feel the same, I could always pretend that I didn’t remember the next day.”

Killian’s warm laughter startled her a bit, but then she was laughing with him. “I usually have a flair with words, Swan, you just do something to me that brings me to my basest form. I’m a goner for you, and I wish I’d have told you sooner.”

“Well, get used to me not being great with words. I’m sort of caveman-like. I mean, I’m not gonna point and grunt, but I definitely use action over words. But if I can paraphrase a great wordsmith, ‘I’m crazy about you, Killian, I have been for a long time’.”

The smile that lit up Killian’s face, dimples and all, was worth the hell she was going to go through with David.

“In the spirit of full disclosure, I never got a chance to answer you at the bar. I love your new dress, may I see it again,” he asked, gently tugging at the blankets she’d wrapped around herself for protection a few moments ago.

“Hmmm, sorry, not right now...” Killian immediately dropped his hand from the blanket and began to tell her it’s okay, when she peeled away the blanket, and continued, “because I’m not wearing it anymore.”

“Fuck me,” he murmured before biting down on his lip hungrily.

“Still the plan.”

♡~♥~♡~♥~♡

“Stand up, love, let me see you.”

Emma complied, standing up and bearing herself to him. She was clad in nothing more than lacy, black panties and a matching bra. Watching as he perused every inch of her body, from the swell of her breasts, to her lean torso and soft belly, then down to the apex of her thighs, she could see his length swelling under his boxer briefs, and every part of her wanted him. Crooking her finger, she beckoned him to her, and it was his turn to comply.

Once Killian stood before her, Emma unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, to the floor. Then she did something that shocked her a little bit, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him close and just held him; he immediately reciprocated, both arms encircling her and bringing her close. The feelings they’d just spoken floated around them and flowed between them.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she guided his mouth to hers and kissed him, softly and exploratorily at first. But as lips gave way to caressing tongues, and roaming hands, heat built and Emma found herself panting and breathless.

Killian unclasped her bra and pulled it away and she was never more grateful for that barrier to be gone, as his chest hair delicately tightened her nipples and sent sparks shooting to her core. She wanted more and made it known by grabbing his ass with both hands and hauling him firmly to her. Killian glided his hands down her back and over her firm ass while sucking a nipple into his mouth. She moaned his name at the sensation of his wet mouth laving at her breasts, and his fingers and palms caressing the smooth expanse of her ass. Emma wanted that last barrier gone, she reached between them to remove first her panties and then finally his boxer briefs.

She was not disappointed when she finally got a look at what her Detective was packing. Emma licked her lips as his cock stood at full attention, straining with the need to be touched.

“See something you like, darling?”

There was that hint of cockiness that she loved so much. “Yeah,” she breathed as she dropped to her knees. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, Emma stroked up and down a few times, relishing in the hiss that left Killian’s mouth. When his head dropped back, she pounced, taking him deep and swallowing once, before pulling back and then setting a slow rhythmic pace.

Killian lifted her from her knees and attacked her mouth with kisses, between trying to speak, “You don’t have to do that.”

Emma pulled her head back to stare at this man in front of her. What guy turns down head? “I know I don’t have to, I was enjoying myself,” she said, then she pushed into his frame, guiding him backwards until he could sit at the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees again, and smirked before descending on him once more, but before she could even set a rhythm, he was halting her ministrations again.

“Okay, that’s twice. What’s up, Jones? Do you not enjoy getting head? Do I suck at it, and not in the good way?” Emma sat back on her calves, folding her arms around herself.

“On the contrary, you are magnificent at sucking my cock, Emma.”

She grinned mischievously at the compliment, a swarm of relief flooding her mind. “Then what gives?”

“I haven’t...” Killian trailed off, and an actual blush colored his cheeks as he tried to find the words he was looking for.

Emma put her hands on his knees and gently squeezed. “What is it? You can tell me.”

“I haven’t been with anyone in a while, I’ve kind of been saving myself for this brilliant lass I know. Plus, I’ve been hard since you took your jacket off at the bar and I don’t wish to finish before you,” he admitted. He rubbed nervously behind his ear as he waited for her reaction.

Emma was a little speechless. At no point in her life had she ever been with a man who was so dedicated to her gratification, he would deny his own. She’d definitely never been halted in the middle of a blow job so that her needs could be met. She stood up, taking Killian with her and then turned them around so that she could lie down on the bed. Holding her hand out to him, she pulled him down next to her and then scooted so that they were laying face to face. “Make me come, Killian.”

Needing no further guidance, Killian captured her lips in a fiery kiss while situating her on her back. Their tongues slid together effortlessly until he broke the kiss to blaze a trail down her body. She would definitely have marks, but he was careful to leave them where only they would see. As he paid special attention to her breasts again, delighting way too much in the noises she made, Emma finally caved, begging for more.

Scooting down between her legs, Killian took stock of the pretty picture splayed out for him. “Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured. Ever so gently, he ran the tip of his finger along her glistening folds, parting them as his finger ran further down, exposing her clit to the cool air.

“Please Killian, touch me.”

“As you wish.”

Emma keened in half relief and half need as his tongue finally made contact with her clit. She thrust her hips, needing nothing short of penetration, and again, she was obviously hoping for more than just one finger. She wasn’t disappointed when Killian filled her with two digits as he worked her clit with his tongue.

Emma fisted a handful of Killian’s dark hair as he brought her a pleasure like none she’d experienced before. It was hot as hell to have him watching her with those devilish blue eyes gazing up from between her thighs as she fucked his fingers.

Emma had never been much of a talker in bed, but she found it easy with Killian to ask for more, to ask for it harder, and because of that, he had her falling over the edge of oblivion quickly.

“Get up here, now,” she panted, once her mind came back from the haze of post orgasmic delight.

“Gods, you taste divine,” he praised as he moved over her body, settling between her legs so they were face to face.

“You are really good at that, better than I could ever have imagined.”

“Oh, Emma,” he began as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently before letting it go, “do elaborate on ‘imagined’,” he smirked before grinding his hips down so his thick length slid through her folds and over her clit.

A breathy moan rushed past her lips as he teased her. “Yeah? You want to hear all about how I get myself off while thinking of you?”

“Aye, lass, tell me.”

“Mmmmm, sometimes it’s quick and dirty, fucking my fingers, wishing they were yours. Other times I imagine you bend me over your desk at the precinct and take me roughly. But the best is edging while wondering if you’re lying in bed thinking about me, stroking your hard cock. I always finally make myself come, pleading your name as I picture you making yourself come all over your chest, calling out my name.”

“Christ, Emma, I’m going to come all over your chest if you tell me any more.”

In a flash of motion, Emma flipped them so she was on top, staring down at Killian. “We can’t have that.” Leaning down, she kissed him roughly, demanding his tongue, while situating his cock so she could sink down on it. “Oh… fuck you feel so good,” she gasped as his full length hit a depth she’d never felt without toys. Her hands found purchase on his chest as she adjusted to his size.

She let Killian set the pace after he grasped both her hips and guided her along. He was mesmerized by the way his cock slid in and out of her wet heat. “You feel so good wrapped around me,” he praised.

Killian pulled her down for a kiss again, and flipped them so he was on top. Emma whined as he withdrew from her completely and sat back on his haunches. “I’ve just realized I don’t have a condom,” he said defeatedly.

“That’s okay, I’m on the pill and I’m clean. You clean?”

“Aye, lass. On my honor.”

“Then put every inch of that cock back inside me,” she demanded as she pulled him back into the cradle of her thighs.

Emma laughed lightly as Killian groaned loudly while pushing back into her. “Just so you know, love, this feels so much better than any time I’ve ever taken myself in hand while thinking of you. And I always come with your name on my lips.”

Her answering smile turned into a low moan as Killian pulled out and then thrust back home. He changed the tempo, long deep passes, quick pounding thrusts, grinding his hips into her sometimes, and pumping shallowly others. She made sure to let him know what felt good and what felt better, and especially what was, “Oh fuck, yes, right there!”

Despite never having been together before, the combination of Emma knowing what she liked, being comfortable enough to ask for it, and Killian listening to her and taking care of her, had them riding the same wave, feeling, exploring, loving.

In the end, Killian had both her legs pulled up high around his waist, arms under her shoulders, and his face buried in the crook of her neck as he methodically drove into her, determined to make her come again.

Emma had her legs wrapped tightly around his torso, her arms around his neck, and her head thrown back into the pillow. They were a hot sweaty mess, and she was sure she’d never been wound this tight, she’d never been this turned on,maybe there was something to sex with feelings. His hot breath against her neck caused a tightness in her nipples and a tingling in her clit. Killian’s thrusts were punishing, hitting her deep, and she was so close and she knew he was close and she really wanted to come again.

“Touch yourself, Emma, I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

An errant bit of relief flooded her as she realized Killian was not intimidated in asking for what he wanted either and he wasn’t too macho to ask her to help get them there. Now was not the time for reflection though, and so she pushed those delightful thoughts to an area for later. Reaching down between them, Emma gathered the arousal that coated her thighs and started rubbing her fingers over her clit. “Almost, Killian, almo- Oh, Ooooh,” Emma cried.

It was almost ridiculous how in sync they were, each gracing the edge of ecstasy before plummeting off one after the other, calling the other’s name like a benediction. She’d been right, his moves on the dance floor had definitely foreshadowed his performance in bed. And just like the attentive gentleman he was day-to-day, he was the same in bed, making sure to guide her through every aftershock, and hold her as she came down from on high.

“Bloody Hell, why did we wait so long to do this?” Killian panted against her neck, before rolling off of her. “Come here,” he said, pulling Emma against his side.

Instead of nestling into him, Emma stood up and stretched deliciously. “So, I guess, I’ll umm... see you around?” A mixture of shock, disappointment, and embarrassment crossed his face before he quickly jumped out of bed. The look was priceless, she really did feel heartless, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

“Right, love,” he mumbled as he turned from her and grabbed his slacks off the floor.

Emma tiptoed behind him and circled her arms around his waist, his whole body was taught. “I’m fucking with you, Jones,” she said gently, pressing her cheek to his back. “Join me for a shower?” As his body relaxed, she placed a few kisses between his shoulder blades causing him to shiver.

He turned in her arms and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. “You are a devilish little minx, aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t resist,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Come on, let’s go get clean… and dirty.”

“Do you promise to tell me more dirty little fantasies?”

A blush ran up her body as she remembered telling Killian her favorite fantasy about him.

“Don’t get shy now. For someone who says they’re shite with words, you were certainly very chatty in bed.

“Oh my gosh, Killian.” She rolled her eyes and smacked his chest as mortification coursed through her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shower, but found herself being swung back into his chest.

Killian wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his front to her back in a sensual embrace. “Don’t you dare ever feel ashamed to tell me exactly what you want, love. If you want it harder,” he thrust his hips against her ass to elaborate, “if you want it deeper,” he growled, sucking at the lobe of her ear, “if you want my mouth between your thighs…”

Emma moaned as Killian continued rutting his hips against her ass and caressing her with his strong hands. She hung on his every word.

“If you want to watch me stroke my cock,” he said huskily, “just say the words.”

“Fuck, Killian. I want you to fuck me again,” she responded breathily. Taking his hand and pulling him toward the shower again, she met no resistance this time.

Reaching into the shower she turned the water on full blast and then turned around and jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist to kiss him while they waited for it to warm up.

He took her again, against the wall of her shower, then they made out until the water began to cool, before they both fell into bed, sated and exhausted.

♡~♥~♡~♥~♡

Emma hummed happily as she stood at the stove making pancakes. Killian was still sound asleep in her bed, the hint of a smile playing at his lips, and a hard case of morning wood if the slight tent of the sheets was anything to judge by. As much as she’d wanted to wake him up with salacious activities, she’d also wanted to let him sleep in. So she’d silently slipped into her black silk robe and headed to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. Her mind kept jumping to different parts of their evening together, and how much she hoped for a repeat performance.

An unadulterated smile broke out across her face when Killian’s husky voice broke through her morning musings. “Something smells delicious.”

The way he nuzzled into her made her weak in the knees as she protested the compliment. “It’s just from a box.”

“Mmm,” he hummed against her ear, “I’m not talking about the pancakes.”

Emma spun in his arms and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her mind was spinning, it was a little shocking to her that she wasn’t panicking at all about how much they’d discussed last night and how deep their feelings ran for each other. She realized she wasn’t afraid because what they had was worth taking the risk for. Breaking the kiss, she peered into his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes full of emotions that she knew mirrored her own. And the absolutely boyish grin gracing his face made her heart soar.

“What?” he asked as she continued gazing at him.

“Nothing, I’m just... happy.”

“Aye, love, me too.”

Emma leaned in to kiss him again, this time parting her mouth and begging entrance to his as she stroked the seam of his lips with her tongue. “To hell with the pancakes,” she muttered when he opened to her, tongues tangling together. Carding her fingers through his hair, only their breathing and wet kisses filled the air as she pushed him back toward the table until he was sitting with her nestled between his legs.

Untying her robe, Killian caressed his hands up and down the lush skin of her torso before greedily pulling her against him, showing her how ready she had him, not that it was hard to tell through his boxer briefs.

“I smell pancakes. I thought we were eating on the way to the zoo?” a masculine voice said, cutting through the moment.

“David!” Emma gasped.

“Your brother has a key, good to know,” Killian muttered. Emma dropped her head into Killian’s shoulder, willing this to be a dream. That was quickly shattered when she heard Mary Margaret’s voice.

“Are we interrupting something,” Mary Margaret asked, eyes wide as saucers and a smirk begging to be let out.

“EmEm! Killy!” little Leo cooed.

David’s hands had immediately found his hips, as they quite often did before interrogating a suspect. Although the look on his face looked more like he was preparing to beat a perp. “What the… I mean… What’s go- Why the hell is he- Goddammit!” he roared, throwing his hands up in the air, and the toddler snuggled in Mary Margaret’s arms immediately started crying at his father’s outburst. “I thought I said she was off limits?”

“Hey!” Mary Margaret and Emma both yelled. As Emma stepped away from Killian to give her brother a piece of her mind, Killian quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Neither missed the huff of exasperation from David, but both ignored it. Killian quickly folded Emma’s robe over and tied it closed before giving her an attempted wink.

She smiled that happy smile at him before returning a scowl to her brother. “I am not a possession, David. You’re not my father, you’re not my husband, and you’re not my keeper! You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot be with.” She was outright yelling as she finished.

“I’m not,” he boomed. “I’m telling Killian he can’t be with you. I don’t want you with a cop, Emma!”

“Why is being with a cop good enough for your wife, the one you share a love so pure with and would lay down your life for, but being with a cop isn’t okay for me?”

“It’s not like that, Emma,” David argued.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s it like? I’m dying to understand,” she retorted.

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“From what?” When David made no move to answer, she shouted her question louder at him. “From what!?”

“Daddy, EmEm, no fight,” Leo cried.

“Emma,” Killian called softly and she turned to look at his calming blue eyes. He was quite the site, clad only in his skivvies, both hands strategically placed over his package. “Let’s get dressed. You both could use a minute to calm down.”

“That’s a great idea,” Mary Margaret piped in. “Take five, we’ll finish making breakfast. You still have that leftover ham from the other night?”

Emma nodded at her sister-in-law, then she and Killian headed toward her bedroom.

“Where are you going, Jones,” David seethed.

“Where the fuck do you think his clothes are, David,” Emma cursed.

Once in the bedroom, Killian pulled Emma into his arms. “Hey, we are going to make him understand, okay. There’s no reason to fight with him. Let’s make him understand. Hear him out, whatever his reasons, and then show him why he’s wrong.”

“No, Killian. He’s being an absolute dick. He has no right to tell me what to do. And I hate whatever his reasons are. I don’t care.”

Killian placed a hand on each of her cheeks and looked into her eyes, before planting a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes you do, love. And we can figure this out.”

Admittedly, some of her anger faded as Killian talked of understanding and explaining and communication. She walked to her dresser and pulled out one of his old t-shirts she’d borrowed at a party at his place.

“You still have this?” he chuckled.

“It smelled like you for a long time after I borrowed it, I like sleeping in it.”

“That party was over a year ago,” he mused.

“I told you, I’ve wanted…,” she paused, trying to find a better word for how she’d felt for so long. “I’ve really liked you for a long time, Killian.”

He slipped the t-shirt over his head before descending on her and kissing her fully. “Maybe almost for as long as I’ve fancied you.”

She just giggled at that, hugging him for fortification before taking his hand and heading back out into the battle zone.

“Wait, I still don’t have pants.”

Emma led him to the guest room.“David and Mary Margaret keep extra clothes here for when they don’t decide early enough who is going to be designated driver.”

“I don’t think Mary Margaret’s pants will fit me, darling.”

“Shut up you goofball,” she laughed as she threw him a pair of David’s sweatpants.

“Let’s sit down and eat, and discuss this like adults,” Mary Margaret, always the mother, ordered everyone when Emma and Killian emerged.

She’d finished cooking the pancakes, whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs, and was just finishing frying up the leftover ham. David was pouring a round of coffee for everyone and holding Leo who was happily babbling now that he had a pancake in his hand and no one was yelling.

After strapping the baby into the portable high chair they kept at Emma’s place, everyone sat down at the table and dug into breakfast.

“Can you just tell me what you think you’re protecting me from?” Emma asked. “I mean you trust Killian with your life, literally. Why don’t you trust him with my heart?”

David’s stoic expression lightened at that. “Does he have your heart, Emma?”

Killian glanced toward Emma and smiled knowingly. They didn’t need to call it love right this instant, but they were definitely invested in each other.

“Answer the question, dear,” Mary Margaret prodded. “Otherwise they don’t have the truth, because trusting Killian has nothing to do with it, and you know it.”

“Fine,” David sighed. “You dealt with abandonment by your own parents, by every subsequent foster parent, by the only friend you made as a child, who turned out to be a fraud, and then with Neal’s betrayal, which almost broke you. I don’t want you to ever experience that abandonment again.” David’s voice broke as he finished explaining. Tears rimmed his eyes as he contemplated even trying to understand what she’d been through. And he would be damned before it happened again, especially by someone who he’d introduced into her life.

“What?” Emma asked incredulously. “That has everything to do with trusting Killian,” she argued. “Why do you assume he’d abandon me.”

Leo quieted as the tension between siblings started to grow again and Mary Margaret looked around the table, jaw clenched and a warning in her eyes to every adult at the table to not upset her baby again.

Killian placed his hand over Emma’s white knuckles where her fist lay balled up on the table. “I don’t think he means I would intentionally leave you, Swan.”

Emma looked between her brother and Killian, a confused furrow cocking her brows.

David chuckled, “See, he gets it.”

“Explain, David. Make her understand where you’re coming from,” his wife urged him.

Wait, Emma thought, it was supposed to be the other way around. She was supposed to be making him understand why she and Killian were a good, no great, thing. Before she could speak though, David started up again.

“Emma, you really think no one sees how much you two are into each other? You really think for almost two years, no one has watched the way you pine for each other, flirt off the charts, tease each other like kids on a playground? You’re like an old married couple half the time, we’d have to be blind not to see it. Killian is a good man, I understand he’d never purposefully hurt you, he’d have to deal with me if he did. But you have to understand that officers die in the line of duty all the time. Being with one means you accept that risk. I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing one more person you loved, especially if it was someone I brought into your life.”

A tear or two trailed down Emma’s cheeks as she listened to her brother. As she really heard what he was saying. For the first time, she understood where he was coming from. It finally made sense why he didn’t want her being with a cop. And it relieved her mind that it had nothing to do with Killian personally, especially because she wasn’t giving him up.

“EmEm, you sad?” Leo asked.

A small laugh turned cry-hiccup escaped Emma’s mouth. “No baby, I’m happy,” she smiled.

Leo clapped his hands, his innocent celebration of an adult human being happy, bringing a smile to everyone’s face.

Emma unfurled her balled up fist under Killian’s comforting hand and interlaced their fingers, giving him a strong smile. “David, while I am thankful that you explained your reason for not wanting me with Killian and I even understand where you’re coming from, I could walk outside tomorrow and get hit by a bus. There are no guarantees in this life.”

David nodded his head as he glanced between her face and her and Killian’s intertwined fingers.

“He has my heart, David, would you deny us that?”

David sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest as he often did when contemplating something. After a full minute, at least, he exhaled a breath bespeaking acceptance, albeit reluctantly. “I’m beginning to see that. And I could never deny you happiness, Emma.”

Emma beamed at her brother, understanding that while his actions may have been off kilter the reasoning behind them was fueled by brotherly love.

Mary Margaret leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek before flashing Emma and Killian a smile. “Glad we got this settled,” she giggled.

“So, just what are your intentions toward my sister, Jones?”

Emma scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes at David’s attempt at big brother intimidation tactics. But when she heard Killian’s answer, she was kinda thankful to her brother.

“Well Dave, whatever happens between me and Emma is as much up to her as it is me. But I’m in this for the long haul if she’ll have me.”

“Good answer, partner,” David laughed as he threw his hand out across the table in an offer to shake Killian’s. “Two rules,” he added as he squeezed Killian’s hand tighter, “you are never allowed to kiss and tell around me, and if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

Killian let David have his moment of brotherly protection, because he understood how important it was to cherish Emma. He was the one who’d fancied her for almost two years after all.

“All right, enough of that,” Mary Margaret sighed as she wiped Leo’s hands and face. “Let’s get everything cleaned up, and then we are headed to the zoo as planned. Emma you are free to bail, you and Killian probably have a lot of catching up to do for the last year and a half.”

Emma waggled her eyebrows at her sister-in-law and Killian had the good sense to not dispense with his usual abundance of innuendos, while David just cast the evil eye at his wife.

“What,” Mary Margaret asked, holding her hands up in mock innocence and confusion, “what’d I say?”

“Ga-dammen!” Leo shouted and every head whipped around to look at the little boy as he tugged helplessly at the lap belt of the high chair. “Up, up,” he pleaded.

“Way to go, dear, looks like he’ll have your charming vocabulary,” Mary Margaret scolded her husband.

Not having any kids of their own had Emma and Killian struggling not to bellow out loud at the little guys antics.

“No, no, Leo,” David told his son as he unbuckled the lap belt and picked him up. “That’s a… that’s a daddy word.”

“David! What kind of lesson is that?”

Emma and Killian just looked at each other and started cracking up. “So what do you say? Stay in or join these crazy kids at the zoo?” Emma asked Killian.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am doing,” Emma deadpanned. “I’m asking you out on a date with me, my brother, his wife and kid, and the monkeys too.”

“Sounds delightful as long as you’ll be there,” Killian answered as he pulled her into his embrace and pecked her lips.

“Hey, let’s just take it slow,” David interrupted, “I’m not quite there yet.”

“Oh relax, she’s 28, not 16, they’ve obviously already done the deed, how are you going to get squirmy over a hug?”

“Not helping!” David pleaded with his wife, rubbing his temples in a soothing motion.

“He’s such a baby,” Mary Margaret cracked up. “How about you guys meet us there? No rush,” she added conspiratorially.

“For fuck’s sake, do you want to lay out a trail of rose petals to the bed for them?”

“He’s too easy,” she continued laughing.

“Fuhfuh sake!!” Leo shouted.

Mary Margaret’s laughter cut off immediately as she stared daggers at her husband. “Watch your mouth, he’s a parrot these days!”

“Gonna be a fun day,” Emma said, once the Nolans had departed. She was most definitely trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“It’ll be brilliant, love. You and me, that is the only requisite for my enjoyment.”

“I bet you say that to all the other girls.”

“There are no other girls. Only you, milady.”

“Good,” Emma whispered before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Mmm, let’s practice mating like the animals, Swan.”

Emma laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “I have no doubt David is now timing the drive to the zoo and adding it to the time he thinks it should take us to be ready.”

“I can be quick,” Killian purred as he thrust his hardening length against her stomach.

“Or we could take our time and really freak him out?”

“Your heart’s desire, Swan, I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”

Emma stared into the intense gaze of Killian’s eyes, the blue shining with truth and sincerity. “The long haul, Killian, that’s what my heart desires. You and me.”

The End

Tagging @laschatzi @xhookswenchx @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @hollyethecurious @jennjenn615 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @apromisednightcap @ultraluckycatnd @wordsmith-storyweaver @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @deathbycaptainswan @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @resident-of-storybrooke @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @cocohook38 @snowbellewells @andiirivera @searchingwardrobes @timeless-love-story @artistic-writer @kday426 @imagnifika

#cs fan fic #cs ff #cs smut #captain swan #cs au

125 notes · View notes

kelyon · 4 years ago

Text

Nephila Chapter 5: Everglades

The fic where the Stiltskin men are all giant spiders (and some people are into that.)

In which Emma Swan is Florida Woman

Trigger warning: Killian Jones

Read on AO3

“Parks department is gonna shoot us with their tranquilizer guns if they catch us out here, Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes at Killian and kept steering her fishing boat through the swamp. This section of the glades was tricky to navigate. She couldn’t let his whining distract her.

They were in a flat-bottomed aluminum jon boat, ten feet long. It didn’t have a built-in engine. Normally Emma used a paddle to get her where she needed to go on the water. Since her plans today were taking her further out than normal, she had “borrowed” a portable Evinrude motor from her friend Penny. It would be fine though; Penny’s boat just got impounded, so she wasn’t gonna miss the motor.

“I never said you had to come, Jones.” She shielded her eyes from the bright Florida sun. Her glasses were dirty and scratched. The reflection on the water doubled the light and made it impossible to see. She shoulda brought a visor.

“No, you just said you were going to do something dangerous and stupid.” Killian lounged against the side of the boat and used both hands to swat at bugs. “You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

“Of course not. That’s why you keep hanging around me, even though I don’t wanna bang you.”

“You mean you don’t want to bang me yet!” He gave her the grin that had worked on every other girl in the tri-county area. “I remain hopeful.”

“You remain delusional.”

Every once in a while, Emma thought about sleeping with Killian just so he would get over it and stop bothering her. He was decent company when he wasn’t horny. He was the only person in their group who would go on crazy adventures with her, and he never minded letting her crash at his place. They’d gotten each other in and out of trouble at least a hundred times since she’d moved to Florida during her freshman year of high school.

That was part of the problem with Killian. She’d known him too long. When they’d met, he’d been zitty and awkward, tagging along after his older brother Liam. Killian hadn’t gotten hot until senior year when he started growing a beard. All that shaggy dark hair brought out his bright blue eyes and covered up his acne. He wasn’t bad looking. And he was almost smart. Growing up on a houseboat made him act like he knew everything about every kind of boat, so he was never afraid to act like a drunk pirate. A lot of girls were into that.

For herself, Emma had heard his voice crack too many times to ever think about him as a sexual option. And yet, ever since graduation, she had found herself at the top of his “to-do list.” It was putting a real strain on their friendship.

“Oh, come on, luv! You know I’ll do anything for you. But if I’m gonna get a hand bit off by a crocodile, I’d feel better about it if I knew there was gonna be some kind of reward for my trouble.”

“Sex isn’t a reward, dumbass.” Hand on the tiller of the motor, Emma steered them around a patch of sawgrass and into a free-flowing slough where the water could carry them. “And besides, there aren’t any crocodiles in Florida. It’s all gators. I only lived here five years and even I know that!”

“Ha!” Killian pointed a triumphant finger at her. “Well, I’ve lived on these waters all my life! And I know that the American Crocodile is the only crocodile that co-exists with alligators. It’s an endangered species and it only lives here in the Everglades!”

She narrowed her eyes. “You just heard that on the Internet.”

Killian shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Emma shook her head. Whether or not Killian should believe something he read on the Internet was an argument they had at least once a week. Going over it again wasn’t worth it.

“Point is,” she said. “We’re going to the part of the glades where there aren’t any gators or crocodiles.”

Killian made a face. “There’s no such place.”

“There sure is!”

He still didn’t believe her. “How do you know gators aren’t there?”

“Cuz there’s too much other stuff. There’s a billion more birds and bugs and lizards in this part of the swamp than there is anywhere else.”

“In the whole Everglades?”

“Yeah. I read an article about it. On the Internet.”

If Killian wanted to give her crap about her news source, he was going to have one hell of an argument. But he had just enough brains not to, so Emma got to explain.

“The article had all these science people talking about the ‘explosion of biodiversity’ in this one tiny section of the Glades. It’s probably been going on for a while, but they just noticed it a couple months ago. All the animals and things that you find one of in any other part of the Glades, you’ll find ten of ‘em in this part we’re going to now.”

“With all the animals there, why aren’t there any gators snapping them up?”

“That’s what the scientists wanted to know. They said it makes sense that there’s more little things crawling around when there aren’t any big things to eat ‘em. But it doesn’t make sense that all the gators, the ‘apex predators,’ just disappeared. They think something is killing the gators but letting everything else go. They’re real worried about it too. So I figure there might be some kinda reward for finding out what’s going on.”

“A reward?” Killian sat up so fast the boat rocked. “You didn’t say anything about a reward!”

“I just did,” Emma smirked. “But we gotta keep it secret. I don’t want anybody trying to edge in on our find.”

“Wait, what are you trying to find?”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? I’m going to find whatever’s eating the gators!”

Killian’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? You think there’s something big enough to eat gators and the first thing you wanna do is go after it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Emma turned back to the tiller. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and unlocked the screen. The article she’d read had a dinky little drawing of a map where all the strange activity was going on. Emma had compared it to the real map on Google and taken a screenshot of where she wanted to go. They should be close.

Killian was still freaking out. At least he was smart enough not to move so much that it would tip the boat over. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Swan?”

“I told you I was gonna do something stupid and dangerous.”

“You know it’s probably just snakes, right? Them pythons people get as pets, then they get too big and people let ‘em loose in the swamp and they eat everything. My buddy Kaa had to do that once.”

“If it was just a bunch of snakes, the science people wouldn’t be so weirded out about it. It’s something they can’t explain.”

“For all you know it could be a giant fucking monster! Did you bring a gun or something? You know McLeach is good to hook us up.”

Emma shook her head. “This is just a fact-finding mission. I don’t need a gun, I’ve got this.” She held up a digital camera in a plastic zipper bag. “I told Hat Man the whole story and he let me use this to take pictures.”

Killian ran his hand over his face. “Of course he did. Hat Man is the only other person in all of Florida who’s as crazy as you!”

Emma threw up her hands. “There are lots of people who do dumber stuff than me or Hat Man ever tried!”

“Yeah, but none of them ever did something that’s gonna get me killed! I swear, Swan--”

“Would the two of you please shut up?” Some guy’s voice rang out over the water. “You’re bothering the monster!”

Emma cut the motor and stood up. The jon boat wobbled but steadied itself after a second. Pushing up her glasses, she scanned around the water. She couldn’t spot any other boats around all the sawgrass patches.

“Who the hell are you?” she shouted. “And how the fuck do you know about the monster?”

The voice chuckled. “Lady, I know more about monsters than you know about your own parents.”

Emma clenched her jaw and muttered. “You don’t know shit about my parents, jackass.”

Sitting on the bench seat closest to the front of the boat, Killian put his head in his hands. “Let’s get out of here, Swan. Whoever this asshole is, the gator-eater can go eat him.”

“The gator-eater can eat this guy, just so long as I get a picture.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Where are you? Can you see anything?”

“I’ve got so many eyes, I can see everything.” The voice wasn’t shouting anymore. It sounded close. Emma hadn’t heard a motor running. Was this guy in a canoe? This far out away from the shore?

Her head spun as she looked around, but she didn’t see anything besides sawgrass and dead tree limbs and a million birds and bugs. There was an extra glare on the water around here, some kinda gold light coming off the patches of land.

“Where are you?” she asked again.

“Over here.”

A head popped out of the nearest patch of sawgrass. This patch had the most of the weird light, so much gold it barely looked green at all. Squinting, she tried to see who she was looking at.

At first, Emma thought it was just a normal guy with a tan. Then she thought the guy had some killer tattoos, maybe jail tats. There were dark brown circles all over his face. Then, the circles blinked at her. Then the guy smiled--and his mouth was green. No, that was not a human mouth. He had fangs. He had pincers.

“Oh, Jesus,” Emma whispered.

She couldn’t move. This was the thing she was looking for, but she couldn’t move. The camera was right by her feet. Her phone was in her back pocket. The boat tiller was less than a foot away from her hand. But she couldn’t move.

From up on his mound of sawgrass, the guy--the thing, the monster--was still smiling. He waved at her.

Somehow, she could wave back.

Sitting down, Killian hadn’t seen what Emma was looking at. “Do you see him?” he asked as he stood up. “I wanna get a good look at our competit--holy shit!”

Everything happened at once. Emma could only think of things in freeze-frame. She saw one second of Killian panicking. One second of him falling over backwards into the water. One second of him toppling the whole boat on his way down. One second of Hat Man’s camera in its ziploc bag flying into the air.

One second of the water coming closer as she fell.

The water wasn’t deep--just deep enough that she didn’t hit her head on the ground. Her glasses almost flew up off her face, but she grabbed them just in time. Spitting and sputtering, Emma managed to get to her feet in the soft mud. This time of year was the dry season, so when she stood up, the water only came up to her chest. But that didn’t mean much for the phone in her pants pocket. By the time she thought to raise it up over her head, it was already soaked.

“Shit,” she swore. “You owe me a new phone, monster-guy!”

At least Hat Man’s camera was in a waterproof bag. But from where she was, six inches above the water’s surface, there was no way she was going to find it.

“Shit!” Emma swore again. “And if I don’t get that fucking camera back, you are gonna be in huge trouble!”

Laughter rang out over the swamp. It wasn’t Killian. It had to be the guy. That monster jackass was laughing at her!

“This isn’t fucking funny!” she shouted.

The thing kept laughing. “Yes it is. I mean, come on, lady. You gotta admit this is classic comedy.”

She could not believe this. She’d gone out on the water to find a monster, found out it was a smart-ass jerk, and then lost any way to prove it to anybody! That wasn’t funny, it was…

Okay, it was pretty funny. But she still had every right to be mad about it!

“Killian, can you believe this sh--” Emma stopped when she realized she had no idea where Killian was. She couldn’t see him or the boat. He hadn’t said anything since he had seen the monster. There were a million sounds coming from a million animals, but none of them sounded like a grown man swimming.

Or drowning.

“Shit!” The third time Emma said that word, it was with bone-deep dread. Her mouth went dry and for a second she panicked. God, Killian could not be dead. She would get in so much trouble!

“Hey, asshole!” she shouted as she began to wade towards the gold-covered island. “You with the eyes and the sense of humor!”

“Call me Neal!” the monster shouted back. He sounded like he was trying to be friendly.

Emma’s mouth dropped open, but then she closed it before a bug could fly in. Where did a monster get off having a name like Neal? She shook her head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Killian.

“Okay, Neal. Sure. Listen, Neal, I need your help. I know I talked a lot of shit to you, but this is serious. Can you see my friend?”

“You mean the wannabe bad boy? Yeah, he’s getting eaten by crocodiles.”

“WHAT?” Emma shrieked.

“Nope. That was a joke. Bad taste, I guess. Actually, he looks fine. He was able to get the boat flipped over and he is motoring off to the horizon.”

“WHAT?” Now Emma was in a full-on bellow. Over the sound of blood pounding in her ears, she could hear the faint whine of an Evinrude outboard motor. “That son of a bitch stole my boat!”

Now that she knew Killian wasn’t dead, she was fully prepared to kill him. She staggered to the island that was covered in a haze of gold--it looked like a bunch of fancy spider webs, but that was the least of her concerns.

“Are you around here?” she yelled. “Neal?”

The same head and arms emerged from the grassy water. Up close, the face looked even weirder. There was a circle of brown eyes, all different sizes and all dark as buttons. She couldn’t tell if there was a nose or not. And the mouth was way too wide and way too fangy, especially when it looked like it was smiling. There were… things on either side of his smile, bright, shiny green things, a part of his mouth, she guessed.

Weirdest of all, over the monster’s human-looking chest and arms, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. It was green, with yellow flowers.

“My father always told me to help a human in need. What can I do for you?”

Right now, Emma was too angry to be confused. “Can you swim?”

Neal raised himself up a little higher out of the sawgrass and Emma saw what the rest of him looked like.

It was one of those half-man, half-horse things she’d seen in movies. Centaurs, that’s what they were called. Only it wasn’t a horse that Neal was half of. Too many legs for that. He was light brown and gray, so he blended in with all the mud and sticks. His legs looked kinda stubby, and they all came out of one place in front of… Emma didn’t have any other word for it but spider-butt.

Sweet Jesus’ birthday. The gator-eater was a goddamned spider-man!

Neal didn’t talk for a second. Emma figured he was letting her get used to him. But that was gonna take a while and Killian the rat bastard was getting further away by the second. Emma put her hands on her hips and looked this thing in its two biggest eyes.

“Did you hear what I said? Can you swim?”

“I’ve got so many legs, I can swim anywhere. You want me to catch up with your boat and teach that guy a lesson?”

“Hell no. I want you to take me to my boat so I can give that son of a bitch a black eye myself.”

Neal snorted--or maybe it was a snort. He sounded like he thought it was funny. “I can do that.” He smiled and lowered his spider-legs so his whole body was near the ground. “You wanna climb aboard?”

Emma wasn’t afraid to ride on the back of a spider-thing through the Everglades. She’d been riding jet-skis since she was ten. This couldn’t be that different. It’d probably be easier, since Neal would be able to do all the steering himself.

He was already mostly in the water, so she just kind of fell on top of him, with her legs on either side of his… Was it a waist? The lower part of his human half.

Short, prickly hairs grew all over the spider half. They came out when she moved her legs against them. Emma was glad she had decided to wear full pants today instead of shorts.

“Okay.” She grabbed the Hawaiian shirt with both hands and tugged. “Giddy-up.”

Neal tensed up and for a minute he didn’t say anything. Then he turned his head to talk to her. “What’s your name?”

“Emma,” she said. Oh crap, was he mad?

“Okay, Emma, listen up. I’m going to help you get your boat, because I am a helpful kind of individual. But if you ever treat me like an animal again, you will be swimming home. Understand?”

“Oh.” Emma let go of his shirt. “Crap, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “No big deal. I’m sure you’re not used to people like me. Now, let’s go retrieve some stolen property!”

Neal had four legs on either side, but he only used the front three to swim. His back legs dragged through the water to balance him out like a dead man’s float. The other legs pushed past the water, all working together. It almost looked like a bird flapping its wings against the wind. Was that what a butterfly stroke looked like? Or was this just a spider stroke?

All that mattered was that Neal was fast. And he knew this area better than Killian did. They caught up to him when he was trying to push his way through an area too shallow for the jon boat.

“Hey!” Emma shouted. “Are you fucking running my boat aground?”

She was too far away to see the expression on Killian’s face. All Emma saw was him looking at the tiller, looking up at her shouting at him from the back of a swimming spider, then looking at the motor again, frantically pulling at the line to get it started.

“Stop doing that, you’re gonna flood it!” Emma shouted again. Killian stopped, and she leaned forward to talk to Neal. “You can take it easy if you want. He’s not going anywhere.”

Chuckling, Neal reduced his speed. The strokes through the water were slower now, but they felt more powerful.

Now that she knew she’d be getting her boat back, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned back on her hands against the spider-butt and rested in the sun.

Neal must have noticed. “You enjoying the ride?”

Emma nodded, but then realized that he couldn’t see her. “I figured I been on these glades every way you could be except over ‘em in a helicopter. Never thought I’d get to see ‘em on the back of a spider.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

They were getting closer to Killian. His freaking out kept getting louder, probably because he could see Neal in better detail. Or maybe because he knew Emma was going to beat seven kinds of crap out of him for stealing her boat and running away without her.

“He is such a dingus,” she muttered.

Neal chuckled again. “Listen,” he said. “If you ever wanna… find me again, I’ll try not to scare you next time.”

“Now that I know you, I don’t think you could scare me,” Emma said proudly. “But I might not be able to get out here again for a while. I’ll have to do a little hustle to get another phone. Plus, I gotta tell Hat Man I lost his camera. He might want me to pay for that too, so my weekends are probably gonna be booked.”

“Oh.” Was she crazy or did he sound disappointed?

They were within spitting distance of Killian now. It was a weird thing, but Emma almost didn’t want to stop swimming with Neal.

“Here’s your boyfriend,” he said as he swam up to the boat.

Killian’s terror had gotten to the stage where he was huddled in the furthest corner of the boat, white faced and wide eyed. Over and over he whispered, “What the fuck?”

Crawling off Neal’s back, Emma scrambled into her boat. Yep, Killian the pirate had run a ten-foot fishing boat into the only section of the Everglades that jutted up over the water. It was a miracle there wasn’t any damage to the hull that would make them take on water.

Neal was already swimming away, but Emma called out. “Don’t leave yet!”

He spun around. Was she crazy or had his eyes lit up?

“Can you do me another favor? Can you pull us away from this sandbar?”

Nodding, Neal grabbed the boat with his human hands. His hands and arms were the same weird color as his spider parts, kind of a muddy brown. The Hawaiian shirt covered his shoulders, but his chest was bare. Emma could see the muscles in his forearms. He looked… strong.

He swam out to a slough with the boat in tow. Killian looked like he was going to throw up.

“Thanks,” Emma said when Neal let go. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what.

“No problem,” he answered.

Treading water, all of Neal’s legs pumped like he was riding eight different unicycles. He bobbed up and down like a jellyfish. Emma got the feeling that he wanted to say more too.

“Jesus Christ,” Killian moaned. “Swan, can we please go home?”

“Now you be nice to Emma, okay dingus?” Neal swam around to that side of the boat. With his human hand, he reached up and ruffled Killian’s hair. “I bet if she wasn’t such a nice person, she’d push you out of the boat and leave you here with me.”

“Jesus Christ!” Killian squealed. He crawled backwards away from Neal like a panicked rat.

Emma tried not to laugh at her friend. She needed to get him home before he started crying. She started the engine and began to motor away.

“Thanks again, Neal,” she waved. “I’ll see you around!”

He waved back. “I hope so.”

****

Even when they got back to shore, Killian was still spooked. Emma had to talk him through every step of docking, even though they’d both done it a million times. At least they were able to sneak the Evinrude back into Penny's garage without getting caught. That was about the only thing that had gone right all day.

When they got back to the houseboat he lived in with his brother Liam, she plopped him down at his kitchen table. She put a cold beer in his hands and started to fry up some hot dogs for lunch.

He just stared at the bottle. “What was that, Swan?” he asked. “What the fuck was that thing?”

Standing in front of the two-burner stove, Emma shrugged. “He says his name is Neal.”

“‘He’?” Killian repeated. His head fell into his hands. “‘He says.’ He talks? Swan, this is insane!”

“Sure is.” Secretly, Emma was glad Killian was freaking out. It meant she didn’t have to. She could be the reasonable one in the face of all this fucked up shit.

They ate lunch in silence. Emma hated the taste of beer, but there was a hard lemonade in the fridge and she helped herself. Once they were done eating, Emma threw away the bottles and the paper plates. Killian and Liam never asked her to clean up for them, but she knew that if she didn’t, the garbage would stay on the table for the better part of a month.

“I gotta go see Hat Man,” she announced. “Better tell him now what happened to his camera.”

“I’m coming with you,” Killian said with more life than he had put into anything for the past hour. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Emma nodded, and they started walking.

****

Geoffrey “Hat Man” Jefferson was the closest thing to an adult that either Emma or Killian trusted. He told them once that his family used to be rich, that a hundred years ago finding feathers for hats in the Everglades was a big business. His great-grandparents bought a lot of land and built a big fancy house on the water. Hat Man still owned the land, and he still wore fancy hats. But the big house had gotten flooded so many times no one could live there anymore. Now he lived in a trailer and spent most of his time getting high on magic mushrooms.

He was a pretty chill guy. Emma didn’t think he would get mad about the camera, but that just made her feel worse about losing it. Hat Man had done her a favor and she had fucked it up.

Story of her life.

When they got to the trailer, Emma and Killian found Hat Man and the usual group in the front yard by the road. It looked like they had taken the dining room table from the big house and set it up outside. All their friends were sitting in the dining room chairs, drinking from China teacups and saucers. Margot and Tilly were holding hands and singing to themselves. McLeach was drinking tea with his pinky up and his rifle slung over the back of his chair.

The table was set with all kinds of pretty platters and bowls--though the menu seemed to be made up of whatever could be snuck out of a gas station convenience store. A red-headed kid named Oliver held out a crystal serving dish of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos to Dodger, who was using a pair of silver tongs to place them, one by one, on his plate. The lace tablecloth fluttered in the breeze and got tangled in the tall grass.

If these were Emma and Killian’s friends, maybe they weren’t actually good judges of what was or was not crazy.

Hat Man noticed them, and raised his teacup in greeting. “Salutations!” he called. “Far-flung comrades, come back to join us in the fold!”

Everyone at the table looked at them. Without anyone saying anything, they all moved around and adjusted their chairs so Emma and Killian could both have seats. Killian found refuge between McLeach and a girl named Vixie--though Vixie seemed a lot more interested in Todd. Todd was a new guy to the group, and had never lived away from his momma before getting dumped here.

Emma sat down next to Hat Man, who handed her a three-level cookie tray loaded with Ding Dongs.

“How mellifluous to see you on this fair day, Mademoiselle Swan! To what honor do I owe the occasion?”

Today Hat Man was wearing black tuxedo pants and a silk purple vest with no shirt underneath. The brim of his battered top hat shadowed his eyes, so Emma couldn’t see exactly how blasted out he was. It appeared to be a lot.

“Actually…” Nervously, Emma fiddled with her glasses until Hat Man, very gently, pulled them off her face and placed them into a glass pitcher of blue slurpee.

“You see better when you don’t have stuff in front of your eyes,” he explained.

“That’s true,” Tilly nodded from across the table. Unlike everyone else at the table, Tilly had drugs that she should be taking, but wasn’t.

Emma actually saw much worse without her glasses, but that wasn’t anything worth caring about now. Even without them on, she still kept touching her face.

“Hat Man, do you remember the digital camera you let me borrow?”

“I recall it with the utmost vividity!” he said. His mouth was full of a burrito that appeared to still be frozen.

“Well, I’m super sorry but, it’s gone.”

He patted at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Desiccation and decay is the way of all flesh, Emmy-wemmy. And all the goods we horde will crumble into dust or be swallowed by the somnambulatory sea.” He took off his hat and solemnly placed it over his heart. “Adieu, O photographic device of mine! May your memory be a blessing unto the next generation.”

The only other person paying attention was Tilly. She had tears in her eyes as she nodded along with what Hat Man was saying.

“So you’re not mad?” Emma said.

“Very mad, but not at all angry.” Jefferson took a burnt Pizza Roll off a silver platter, threw it into the air and caught it in his mouth. “What happened to it, anyway?”

“I…” she didn’t know how to start. “I wanna say you’re not gonna believe this, but I think you’re the only person who will.”

In hushed tones, she told him the whole story. The news article, the missing alligators, the island of gold thread--Neal. Hat Man listened politely, nodded and asked questions, but in the end he shook his head and said that the whole thing was poppycock.

“What?” Emma said. “But I saw the whole thing! And Killian was there, you can ask him!”

“Don’t be farcical,” Hat Man took a sip of… well, it was in a teacup, but it probably wasn’t tea. “How on earth could such a creature get here from Australia?”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t say anything about Australia.”

“Indubitably,” he said. Emma had no idea what he meant by that. “But Australia is the only place where I’ve ever witnessed such a creature before.”

#nephila #swanfire #Belle and Rumple will be back soon #ouat

3 notes · View notes

lifeinahole27 · 4 years ago

Text

CS ff: “I Come Close” (Part 2/3) (au)

Summary: They’re not really rivals, but not really friends. What they are, instead, is the best sex they’ve ever had. It’s easy and simple, even with the rules they have in place. So what happens when those rules start falling apart?

Rating: Explicit - This chapter contains blindfolding, sensory play, and restraints.

A/N: It took me until just now to discover I’d never added a summary to the last chapter. Y’all do know you can let me know when I fuck that shit up, yeah? Anyway, here’s part 2! Part 3 is finally finished and in edits so I figured I could get this whole thing posted before I go on vacation next week.

Part 1

Find it on Ao3!

-x-

Part 2

Killian wants to blame all of this on the merger their company went through a year ago. And by "blame" he means "thank profusely," of course. That’s the only reason that Emma Swan came into his life. They were both senior project managers within their original companies and now they’re practically pitted against each other because of their own competitive streaks.

He remembers the way she came into his office on her first day, striding right up to his desk and planting her palms on either side of his name plate, fire in her eyes as her hair fell over her shoulders.

“You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours,” she declared. It had been suggested they work together on some middle-ground projects, but they’ve both waved it off and split the files, preferring to work with their own teams.

And then, something shifted. They were each working late one night and he could hear her swearing up a storm, so even as he shut down his own office for the night, he made a decision to go to hers.

“Everything all right, Swan?”

“Just fucking dandy,” she replied, scowling at the screen in front of her.

“I know it’s against our nature to help each other out, but is there anything I can do?”

She’d looked up at him, then, considering him from behind her glasses, her hair swept up into a ponytail.

“Actually, there is something you can do,” she’d replied, an innocent smile forming across her lips.

A half hour later, she was leading him inside her apartment. Forty-five minutes later, her hands were holding his head in place as he did everything in his power to get her off.

It started as just sex. They had rules, of course, including those regarding the location and frequency of their visits. And no kissing, Emma had announced as her hand closed around his erection that first time. They were rules they’d strictly held in check for the last six months that they’d been sleeping together.

Right up until the moment Emma showed up at his apartment and kissed him before she left.

Since that day two weeks ago, they’ve seen each other after work every other day, sometimes going to his place instead of just to hers now. They’ve not kissed again.

When he shows up on a Friday after they’ve both left work for the day, he’s treated to a new surprise: Emma answers the door in a satin robe, pulling him in by his tie and locking the door behind him. He barely has time to take off his shoes before she’s leading him to the kitchen table, slipping the plastic bag off his prosthetic hook as she goes.

“I wanna talk to you about trying something new,” she tells him as she pours the wine. “We’ve been doing this long enough that I trust you like… a lot. You know as well as I do that we’re always expected to be the ones that call the shots at work. Well, tonight, I want to give you that control over me. Is that okay?”

“Much like when we first began this, love, I just ask that you let me know what I can do.”

“We’ll get to that. Dinner comes before you do,” she says, grinning as she doles out the containers.

She makes sure the whole kitchen is cleaned before she leads him back to her bedroom. The lights are dim, and her nightstand has been cleared of the miscellany that usually clutters it. Those items have been replaced by a bundle of satin, a bottle of lubricant, and a few sensory items that he doesn’t really focus on, instead turning back to Emma.

“You have something in mind?”

“Well,” she says, going for the satin first. “I want you to help me with these, and then the rest is up to you.”

The bundle is, in fact, two restrains and an eye mask. The restraints are soft, and she shows him how to loop them around her wrists. They don’t tie, which means she can escape from them if needed. He does, however, have to tie them to her bed frame, but he waits until she’s put the eye mask on her head and gotten comfortable against the pillows. She rests her arms overhead and he works from there to tie the straps to the bars closest to her.

She tests them a few times, making sure they’re the right tension, before she lays back and tries to relax. Her eyes land back on him, watching with interest as he loosens his tie. When he notices he has an audience, he slows down, drawing out the act as he makes eye contact with her.

He sets the tie on her dresser, moving next to the buttons on his shirt and making quick work of those. The shirt gets draped over a chair she has in the corner of her room, and he quickly shuffles off his socks at the same time. Her eyebrow pops up in question when he turns his attention to releasing the straps that hold his prosthetic in place.

“You don’t have to,” she tells him, and he can tell by her voice that she’s just trying to make sure he’s comfortable.

“I want to,” he says quietly, leaving the whole contraption next to his tie.

Down to just his trousers, he moves back to the bed and stands there considering where to start. He supposes the first order of business is to undress her.

“Shall I strip you with or without the blindfold?”

“Without.”

“As you wish.”

He tugs carefully on the tie holding her robe closed, giving a pleased hum as it easily comes loose and he can push apart the two sides to reveal nothing but a simple thong. Already he can see the dampness on the crotch and he looks up at her as he smirks.

“So wet already,” he comments. He moves closer to her side, kneeling on the bed for a moment to ease the blindfold down over her eyes. “You say ‘stop’ and I will do so immediately, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, her voice sounding breathy already.

He moves away from the bed again, instead weighing his options on the sensory items she’s left out. There are three items on the table: one is a feather tickler, one is a small vibrator, and the last is a small wheel with dull spikes on it.

He starts with the wheel, hoping to catch her off guard by not going for the tickler first. As quietly as he can, he moves to the bottom of the bed, hovering just close enough that he can reach without giving away his position. With a quick motion, he runs the wheel along the arch of one foot, biting back a chuckle when she twitches and brings her whole knee up.

“Seriously?” she exclaims, The surprise evident on her face even with her eyes covered.

“You’ve given me the control, Swan. Just try to relax.”

She grumbles out something that he very much wants to respond to but turns his attention back to setting the wheel back against her skin and rolling it up her shin. He draws patterns around her knee and zigzags his way up her thigh before moving back to the other leg. He can hear her exhalation of disappointment and almost tells her she’s in for a long night of sighs like that.

Going along the outside of her thighs is fun, but it’s when the wheel dips to her inner thighs that he really enjoys. He gets to watch as she tugs at her restraints, her hands reaching as if wanting to pull him to where she wants. Just as quickly, her arms flop back to the pillows.

The rest of her skin gets the same treatment - he runs the wheel across her abdomen, where she squirms away from the ticklish sensation. He rolls it between her breasts. He varies the pressure as he goes to different areas, watching the way she twists and moves in reaction.

Before moving on to the next item, he instead chooses to remove her underwear. He uses his hand and teeth to drag each side of the thong down at the same time, enjoying the way she says his name like a curse as he does.

He wants so badly to sink into her already, to bring them both to completion in any way he can, but he knows she wants more than just one of these toys used, so he opts to grab the tickler after he drops her panties on the floor. This time, he starts from the top and works his way down. From the space just below her wrists, all the way to the tips of her toes, he brushes the bundle of feathers across her skin.

Deciding to add a new element to it, he climbs onto the bed and straddles her with one knee on either side of her torso. Other than kneeling on the robe that was trapped beneath her, he makes sure he’s not hurting her in any way.

“Still okay?” he asks, needing that verbal confirmation before he continues.

“Yeah, good,” she responds, moving just enough that her skin brushes against the fabric of his trousers. He watches as goosebumps form across her skin and her nipples tighten up further. He bites his bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to kiss her right now, as she is, but holding back to honor her rules.

He doesn’t say anything further, instead leaning up so he can draw the tickler across her wrists again. This time, however, he follows the line of the feathers with his tongue, using it to draw intricate patterns along the path.

It’s the first time her control breaks and she moans. He does the same on her other arm before moving down her chest. He shifts to straddle lower on her body so he can access each new part he plays with. She tilts her head to give better access to her neck, then arches up into his touch when he gets to her breasts.

For a moment, the tickler gets left to the side as he does a thorough job of licking and nipping at each breast. By now he knows exactly how hard to bite each nipple to get the perfect response, and today is no different as she cries out, bucking her hips up in hope of meeting some kind of friction.

He shifts again so one of his knees presses against the juncture between her legs as he licks across her chest and down her abdomen, giving her a taste of what she wants as she rubs her center against his leg. Before she can get off, however, he moves again.

Ignoring where she wants him most, he continues to trail down her legs, enjoying the noises she makes when he brushes the feathers across the backs of her knees as he nips gently at her kneecaps. Down he goes until he gets to her ankles, and then repeats the sequence again on the outside and inside of each leg.

She’s panting by now, and even with the lights as low as they are he can see she’s glistening with her own moisture. The vibrator and lubricant, it seems, will have to wait until another time. He moves off the bed for a moment in order to carefully shuck his trousers and boxers, watching in interest as Emma cocks her head and wondering if she can tell what he’s doing or if she’s trying to hear where he is.

When he notices how parched he is and how she’s repeatedly closing her mouth and swallowing, he decides it’s okay for one last little trick. As he stands at the foot of the bed, he wraps his hand around one of her ankles and moves her leg outward. He repeats the same motion with her other leg, leaving her spread open for him.

“Don’t move,” he instructs before exiting the room as quietly as he can and heading for her kitchen. He knows by now where she keeps her cups, and he finds one with a lid and a straw that he’s seen her drinking out of during meetings. He fills it quickly and heads back to the room.

“Sit up a little and drink,” Killian tells her, guiding her to the straw and smiling gently when she greedily gulps.

“How did you know?” she asks after she quenches her thirst.

Instead of responding, he takes his own sips from the drink before stopping up the straw and pulling it from the cool water and leaving the cup on the nightstand. Starting between her breasts, he lets drops escape as he moves down her body and she gasps and arches.

“You asshole,” she pants, but whatever she planned to say after that is long lost as the last final drops land just above her clit. The straw gets thrown to the side as he moves quickly, sucking up those drops before closing his mouth around her clit, his tongue flicking across it in swift movements.

He’s coerced a lot of noises out of her in their time together. She has moaned his name in every cadence he could possibly imagine. This time, she shouts, and he knows that he’ll have hell to pay for this eventually. He only lets up long enough to fully move onto the bed between her legs, burying his face between her thighs and working with the singular goal of making her orgasm.

She was already close, so he’s not surprised when he barely gets through tracing her clit with a “K” as he’s going through the alphabet and she traps him where he is, cursing his name and tugging tight at the restraints for the first time during this whole adventure. She bucks up into his mouth, riding out the pleasure as long as she can before she collapses back to the bed, her legs and arms all going limp at the same time.

So lost is he by leaving little kisses along her pubic bone that he doesn’t notice she’s slipped off one of the restraints until her hand is buried in his hair and she’s tugging hard. Killian moans against her heated flesh, his hips stuttering against the mattress for a second.

She releases him to push up the blindfold, where she meets his gaze with her heated one. “Get up here and fuck me.”

“As you wish,” Killian says again, hoping eventually she’ll get the reference and infer the meaning. But until that day, he does just as she commands.

-x-

Part 3

#cs ff au #cs smut #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #captain swan

58 notes · View notes